#i do NOT want this to come off as dismissive of people's complaints | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carriesthewind · 2 years ago

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Oh dear.

So as some of you may know, I love to point and laugh at bad legal arguments. And as fun as legal dumpster fires are when they are made by people who aren’t lawyers but think this whole “law” thing seems pretty simple, it’s even funnier when an actual, barred attorney is the person dumping gallons of kerosene into the dumpster.

And oh boy folks, do I have a fun ride for y’all today. Come with me on this journey, as we watch a lawyer climb into the dumpster and deliberately pour kerosene all over himself, while a judge holds a match over his head.

The court listener link is here, for those who want to grab a few bowls of popcorn and read along.

For those of you who don’t enjoy reading legal briefs for cases you aren’t involved with on your day off (I can’t relate), I will go through the highlights here. I will screenshot and/or paraphrase the relevant portion of the briefs, and include a brief explainer of what’s going on (and why it’s very bad, but also extremely funny). (Also, I’m not going to repeat this throughout the whole write-up, so for the record: any statements I make about how the law or legal system works is referring exclusively to the U.S. (And since this is a federal case, we are even more specifically looking at U.S. federal law.) Also, I don’t know how you could construe any of this to be legal advice, but just in case: none of this is, is intended to be, or should be taken as, legal advice.)

First, let’s get just a quick background on the case, to help us follow along. In brief, this is a civil tort suit for personal injury based on defendant’s (alleged) negligence. The plaintiff is suing the defendant (an airline), because he says that he was injured when a flight attendant struck his knee with a metal cart, and the airline was negligent in letting this happen. The airline filed a motion to dismiss on the grounds that there is an international treaty that imposes a time bar for when these kind of cases can be brought against an airline, and the plaintiff filed this case too many years after the incident.

The fun begins when the plaintiff’s attorney filed an opposition to the motion to dismiss. (So far, a good and normal thing to do.) The opposition argues that the claim is not time-barred because 1) the time bar was tolled by the defendant’s bankruptcy proceedings (that is, the timer for the time limitation was paused when the defendant was in bankruptcy, and started again afterwords), and 2) the treaty’s time limit doesn’t apply to this case because the case was filed in state court before the state statute of limitations expired, and the state court has concurrent jurisdiction over this kind of case.

I’m struggling a bit to succinctly explain the second reason, and there’s a reason for that.

You see, the whole opposition reads a bit…oddly.

This is how the opposition begins its argument, and it’s…weird. The basic principle is...mostly correct here, but the actual standard is that when reviewing a motion to dismiss for failure to state a claim (which is what the defendant filed) the court must draw all reasonable factual inferences in the plaintiff’s favor. But even then, you don’t just put that standard in your opposition. You cite to a case that lays out the standard.

Because that’s how courts and the law work. The courts don’t operate just based on vibes. They follow statutory law (laws made by legislature) and case law (the decisions made by courts interpreting what those laws mean). You don't just submit a filing saying, "here's what the law is," without citing some authority to demonstrate that the law is what you say (or are arguing) it is.

Again, this isn’t wrong (although I'm not sure what it means by new arguments?), but it’s weird! And part of the reason it’s weird is that it is irrelevant to the defendant’s motion to dismiss. The defendant filed a motion stating that based on the facts in the complaint, the plaintiff has not stated a claim based on which relief can be granted, because the complaint is time barred by a treaty. There is no reason for this language to be in the opposition. It’s almost like they just asked a chatbot what the legal standards are for a motion to dismiss for a failure to state a claim, and just copied the answer into their brief without bother to double-check it.

The opposition then cites a bunch of cases which it claims support its position. We will skip them for now, as the defendant will respond to those citations in its reply brief.

The last thing in the brief is the signature of the lawyer who submitted the brief affirming that everything in the brief is true and correct. An extremely normal - required, even! - thing to do. This will surely not cause any problems for him later.

The next relevant filing is the defendant’s reply brief. Again, the existence of a reply brief in response to an opposition is extremely normal. The contents of this brief are…less so.

Beg pardon?

Just to be clear, this is not normal. It is normal to argue that the plaintiff’s cases are not relevant, or they aren’t applicable to this case, or you disagree with the interpretations, or whatever. It is not normal for the cases to appear to not exist.

Some highlights from the brief:

Quick lesson in how to read U.S. case citations! The italicized (or underlined) part at the beginning is the name of the case. If it is a trial court case, the plaintiff is listed first and the defendant second; if the case has been appealed, the person who lost at the lower court level (the petitioner/appellant) will be listed first, and the person who won at the lower level (the respondent/appellee) will be listed second. There are extremely specific rules about which words in these names are abbreviated, and how they are abbreviated. Next, you list the volume number and name of the reporter (the place where the case is published), again abbreviated according to very specific rules, then the page number that the case starts on. If you are citing a case for a specific quote or proposition, you then put a comma after the beginning page number, and list the page number(s) on which the quote or language you are relying on is located (this is called a “pincite”). Finally, you put in parenthesis the name of the court (if needed)(and again, abbreviated according to extremely specific rules) and the year the case was decided.

So the plaintiff’s response cited to Zicherman, which they said was a case from 2008 that was decided by the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals. However, the defendant was not able to find such a case. They were able to find a case with the same name (the same petitioner and respondent), but that case was decided by the U.S. Supreme Court in 1996, and the lower court cases associated with that case weren’t in the 11th circuit either. (The United States Reports is the only official reporter for the U.S. Supreme Court, and only includes SCOTUS decisions, so it’s not necessary to include the name of the court before the year it was decided.)

Just to be clear. The defendant’s brief is saying: the plaintiff cited and extensively quoted from these cases, and neither the cases nor the quotations appear to exist. These “cases” were not ancillary citations in the plaintiff’s brief. They were the authority it relied upon to make its arguments.

This is as close a lawyer can come, at this point in the proceedings, to saying, “opposing counsel made up a bunch of fake cases to lie to the court and pretend the law is something different than it is.”

That, “Putting aside that here is no page 598 in Kaiser Steel,” is delightfully petty lawyer speak for, “you are wrong on every possible thing there is to be wrong about.”

By page 5, the defendant has resorted to just listing all of the (apparently) made up cases in a footnote:

(skipping the citations to support this proposition)

This is where I return to my struggle to explain the opposition’s second reason why the motion to dismiss should not be granted. I struggled to explain the argument, because they failed to explain why the argument they were making (that plaintiffs can bring lawsuits against airlines in state court, and the state court have specific statutes of limitations for general negligence claims) was relevant to the question of whether the plaintiff’s specific claim against the airline was time barred by the treaty. Because 1) this case is in federal court, not state court, and 2) federal law - including treaties - preempts state law. Again, it’s almost like plaintiff’s attorney just typed a question about the time bar into a chatbot or something, and the machine, which wasn’t able to reason or actually analyze the issues, saw a question about the time to bring a lawsuit and just wrote up an answer about the statute of limitations.

We also end with a nice little lawyerly version of “you fucked up and we are going to destroy you.” The relief requested in the defendant’s original motion to dismiss was:

In their reply to the opposition, however:

“The circumstances” in this case, being the apparent fabrication of entire cases. Because courts tend to take that pretty seriously.

And the court took it seriously indeed. The defendant’s reply was docketed on March 15th of this year. On April 11th:

AKA: you have one week (an extremely prompt time frame for federal court) to prove to me that you didn’t just make up these cases.

On April 12th, the plaintiff’s attorney requests more time because he’s on vacation:

The judge grants the motion, but adds in another case that he forgot to include in his first order.

On April 25th, the plaintiff’s attorney files the following:

(And he lists the cases, with one exception, which he says is an unpublished decision.)

But he says of all of the cases except two, that the opinions…

Which is…nonsense?

First of all: if you cited a case, you had to get it from somewhere. Even unpublished opinions, if you are citing them in a brief, you are citing them because you pulled them off of westlaw or whatever. Which means you have access to the case and can annex it for the court. (There are even formal rules for how you cite unpublished opinions! And those rules include citing to where you pulled the damn case from!)

Secondly: remember that long digression I went into about how to read case citations? Remember that bit about how you include the name of the reporter (the place the case was published)? Yes, cases are published. They are printed in physical books, and they are published online in databases (e.g. lexis or westlaw). If the specific online database you are looking in does not have the case, you look somewhere else. If you have a judge telling you to get them a copy of the case Or Else, you track down a physical copy of the reporter if you need to and scan the damn thing yourself. You - literally - can’t just not have a copy of the case! (Especially published federal circuit court opinions, which multiple of these cases are! Those aren’t hard to find!)

And what kind of “online database” doesn’t include the entire opinion anyway? I’ve literally never heard of a case research database that only included partial opinions, because that wouldn’t be useful.

Maybe if we look at the attached annexed copies of the cases, that might give us some answers.

...

My friends, these things are just bizarre. With two exceptions, they aren’t submitted in any sort of conventional format. Even if you’ve never seen a legal opinion before, I think you can see the difference if you just glance through the filings. They are located at Docket entry #29 on Court Listener (April 25, 2023). Compare Attachments 6 and 8 (the real cases submitted in conventional format) to the other cases. Turning to the contents of the cases:

In the first one, the factual background is that a passenger sued an airline, then the airline filed a motion to dismiss (on grounds unrelated to the treaty's time bar), then the airline went into bankruptcy, then the airline won the motion to dismiss, then the passenger appealed. And the court is now considering that appeal. But then the opinion starts talking about how the passenger was in arbitration, and it seems to be treating the passenger like he is the one who filed for bankruptcy? It’s hallucinatory, even before you get to the legal arguments. The “Court of Appeals” is making a ruling overruling the district court’s dismissal based on the time bar, but according to the factual background, the case wasn’t dismissed based on the time bar, but on entirely other grounds? Was there some other proceeding where the claim was dismissed as time barred, and it’s just not mentioned in the factual background? How? Why? What is happening? Also it says Congress enacted the treaty? But, no? That’s…that’s not how treaties work? I mean, Congress did ratify the treaty? But they didn’t unilaterally make it!

In the second case, there’s an extended discussion of which treaty applies to the appellants claims, which is bizarre because there are two relevant treaties, and one replaced the other before the conduct at issue, so only the new treaty applies? There isn’t any discussion of the issue beyond that basic principle, so there is no reason there should be multiple paragraphs in the opinion explaining it over and over? Also, it keeps referring to the appellant as the plaintiff, for some reason? And it includes this absolutely hallucinatory sentence:

…the only part this that makes sense is that the argument is without merit. I’m not going to discuss the actual merits of the legal arguments in the opinion, because they are so bizarre and disjointed that even trying to describe them would require a Pepe Silvia-sized conspiracy board. Like the previous case, both the facts and the legal posture of the case change constantly, with seemingly no rhyme or reason.

The third one…oh boy. First, large portions of the “opinion” are individual paragraphs with quotations around the whole paragraph. What’s happening there? As far as the content of the opinion itself - I can’t. I mean that, I literally can’t. What is being discussed seems to change from paragraph to paragraph, much of it contradicting. It makes the first case seem linear and rational by comparison. The court finds it doesn’t have personal jurisdiction over the defendant so dismisses the case based on a lack of subject matter jurisdiction? But also the defendant hasn’t contested jurisdiction? And also the court does hold that it has both subject matter and personal jurisdiction over the defendant? And then it denies the motion to dismiss the case? Also, at one point it cites itself?

…also, even if this was a real case, it doesn’t stand for the propositions the plaintiff cited it for in their opposition? I’m not going to go into the weeds (honestly it’s so hallucinatory I’m not sure I could if I tried), but, for example, the plaintiff’s reply brief states that the court held “that the plaintiff was not required to bring their claim in federal court.” The U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia is a federal court, and there is no discussion of any filings in state courts. The closest the “opinion” comes is with the statement, “Therefore, Petersen’s argument that the state courts of Washington have concurrent jurisdiction is unavailing.” (This statement appears to be completely disconnected from anything before or after it, so I am unsure what it is supposed to mean.)

Moving on, case number four is allegedly a decision by the Court of Appeals of Texas. It includes the following line:

Honestly, the plaintiff’s attorney best defense at this point is that he wasn’t intentionally trying to mislead the court, because if he was doing this on purpose, he would have edited the cases to make them slightly more believable. (Context in case you’ve lost track: these documents are supposed to be copies of the opinions he is citing. The screenshoted line makes it clear that what he is actually citing is, at best, someone else’s summary of an "opinion". It would be like if a teacher asked a student to photocopy a chapter of a book and bring it into class, and instead the student brought in a copy of the cliffs notes summary of that chapter. Except that the book doesn’t even exist.)

The actual contents of the “opinion” are, as is now standard, absolutely bonkers. First, the court decides that it doesn’t have personal jurisdiction over Delta because “Delta did not purposefully avail itself of the benefits of conducting business in Texas.” This was despite the fact that the factual background already included that the appellant (sorry, the plaintiff, according to the “opinion”) flew on a Delta flight originating in Texas. Like, this is just wrong? It’s not even hallucinatory nonsense, it’s just facially incorrect legal analysis. Then the court starts discussing the treaty’s time bar, for some reason? Then it goes back to talking about personal jurisdiction, but now the trial court denied the defendant’s motion to dismiss for lack of personal jurisdiction, and the appellate court agrees with the trial court that it does have personal jurisdiction, even though this is the plaintiff’s appeal from the dismissal for lack of personal jurisdiction and the court already ruled it didn’t have personal jurisdiction? And even though on page 1, the plaintiff was injured during a flight from Texas to California, now on page 7 she was injured on a flight from Shanghai to Texas? Also the trial court has gone back in time (again) to grant the motion to dismiss that it previously denied?

Also, I’ve been trying to avoid pointing out the wonky text of these submissions, but:

Everything ok there?

Case number five is similar enough to number four that it’s not worth repeating myself.

Thank god, cases six and eight, as noted above, are real cases, so I’m going to skip them. The defendant alleges that the cases do not stand for the propositions the plaintiff cited them for, and I’m going to assume that is true, given the rest of this nonsense.

Case number seven looks legitimate on the surface. But neither the defendant nor I could find the case through any legitimate search mechanisms. The defendant looked up the purported docket numbers on PACER and found completely different cases; I was able to find a case with the name “Miller v. United Airlines, Inc.,” but it was for a different Ms. Miller, it was a California state case (not a Second Circuit federal case), it was decided on a different year, and the substance of the case was entirely different from the alleged opinion filed with the court.

On top of that, this might be the most morally reprehensible fake citation of them all? Because it is about the crash of United Airlines Flight 585, a real plane crash. Everyone on board - 25 people in total - was killed.

The individual cited in this fake court case was not one of them.

I cannot imagine conducting myself in such a way where I would have to explain to a judge that I made up a fake case exploiting a real tragedy because I couldn’t be bothered to do actual legal research.

Now, I know you all have figured out what’s going on by now. And I want you to know that if your instincts are saying, “it seems like the lawyer should have just fallen on his sword and confessed that he relied on ChatGPT to write his original brief, rather than digging himself further into this hole”? Your instincts are absolutely correct.

Because obviously, the court was having none of this b.s. On May 4th, the court issued an order, beginning with the following sentence:

That is one of the worst possible opening sentences you can see in an order by the court in a situation like this. The only thing worse is when judges start quoting classic literature. If I was Mr. Peter LoDuca, counsel for the plaintiff, I would already be shitting my pants.

“I gave you an opportunity to either clear things up or come clean. Now I’m going to give you an opportunity to show why I should only come down on you like a pile of brinks, instead of a whole building.”

We are getting dangerously close to “quoting classic lit” territory here.

If I learned that the judge in my case called up the clerk of a circuit court just to confirm how full of shit I was, I would leave the legal profession forever. Also, the judge is now also putting quotes around “opinion.” When judges start getting openly sarcastic in their briefs, that means very very bad things are about to happen to someone.

So I’m guessing the delay between this filing and the court order was because the judge’s clerk was tasked with running down every single one of the additional fake citations included in the "opinions", just to make this sure this order (and the upcoming pile of bricks) are as thorough as possible.

If you are following along with Dracula Daily, the vibe here is roughly the same as the May 19th entry where Dracula demands Jonathan Harker write and pre-date letters stating he has left the castle and is on the way home.

Also, hey, what’s that footnote?

Wait, what?

Folks, it appears we may have notary fraud, on top of everything else! Anybody have bingo?

So on May 25, one day before the deadline, Mr. LoDuca filed his response. And oh boy, I hope ya’ll are ready for this.

Hey, what’s the name of that other attorney, “Steven Schwartz”? Where have I seen that name before…

...I ran out of room for images on this post. So I'm going to have to leave this as an accidental cliffhanger. Part 2 to follow once I refresh my tea.

#ai bs #2 Stupid 2 Sanction

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cherryredstars · 1 year ago

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Not sure if I’m doing this right since I’m new to tumbler :D but hi love ur writing followed you in an instant!

I was wondering if you could write something for a very low self esteem, inexperienced reader who goes to uni so is like 21 or something and is Miguel’s neighbor. They live in this building and their other neighbor is a rude lady who complains at the slightest Noise basically. she doesn’t dare bother Miguel but is always bothering the reader since reader can’t tell her to f off. Reader is just such sweet chubby lil cinnamon roll :(

Idk if I should have been less descriptive or more TvT; ?

Anyway hope you’re doing great :D don’t forget to hydrate ♥️

1K Prompts

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Age Gap, Sexual Touching (With Clothes on), Slight Fluff

Summary: He helps you, you help him.

A/N: This is perfect, don’t worry, love!!!

Word Count: 2.4K (Not Edited)

This is most definitely going to leave you a crying wreck in your bathroom later.

Your nerves were already on high alert with finally becoming independent and moving out of the college dorms, that pesky exam and assignment you procrastinated on working on, and your job has been firing and hiring people left and right. The last thing you needed was your cranky old neighbor, (it is crazy to think that you once thought she was going to be a kind old woman who would give you cookies when she was lonely), to come banging on your door with a list of complaints and reasons why she could get you evicted. You do not know what to do, never being in this type of situation before. Honestly, you do not even know about half the things this woman is accusing you of.

You can only stand there, hand tightly holding the door open as you try not to cry from stress. In your head, you are counting in an effort to make sure your breaths are coming out evenly. The last thing you want is to have a panic attack and have your neighbor add the threat of a mental hospital to the list. You nod along weakly to what she says, letting out whispered apologies that only seem to make her angrier.

“You useless teenagers and your need to ruin good things, don’t think I forgot when you tr-”

“Is there a problem here?”

His voice is deep and smooth, causing the both of you to jolt. You visibly relax when you turn your head to find Miguel standing outside his apartment door. He has just gotten back from work and running errands, his lab coat draped over his arm as he holds paper bags in his arms. His hair is slightly tousled from the autumn breeze, and a few strands of his black hair are scattered with grey. His sweater hugs his arms and torso in a way that is mouthwatering, and you quickly look away when his eyes meet yours.

Miguel is the only neighbor you really know. He had helped you the first time you moved in, hearing the way you struggled to bring some things up to your apartment. He offered to help, carrying in boxes faster than you could into your apartment. When you had gotten furniture, he was happy to come over and assemble it for you. He is so kind to you, offering to help with a leaking pipe or to answer any of your questions about how to do something. You might have grown a slight crush on your neighbor, something that slightly freaked you out when you realized because of the obvious age gap the two of you have. You have not even finished college yet and he is in his mid-thirties working in a big corporate lab.

Miguel clears his throat and you look back at him. He stares at you expectantly, totally ignoring the stuttering woman who tries to answer his question. He is only ever interested in what you have to say. You flush under his intent gaze, quickly shaking your head. You do not want to cause more problems, and you definitely do not want to have your cranky neighbor form a bigger vendetta against you.

Miguel’s eyebrow raises, definitely catching the anxious expression on your face. He hums dismissively after a minute, eyes lazily trailing back to the older woman. His nose scrunches up slightly at the sight of her and he looks away again as the woman stops trying to defend herself. Miguel shrugs, the paper bags rustling with their contents. He turns to face you, once again ignoring the older woman.

“Then you wouldn’t mind helping me put away my groceries, right? Can’t get my keys with my hands full,” Miguel speaks in a lazy drawl.

You are quick to nod your head in agreement, stepping out of your doorway and closing the door. The woman steps back, a displeased look on her face as she watches you walk over to Miguel. Miguel keeps his eyes trained on you, watching everything you do. You are shy when you smile up at him. With your back turned towards the old woman, you mouth a ‘thank you’ to him. His eyes instantly snap to your lips, intently studying your exaggerated words. His eyes seem to darken for a second before he blinks and it is gone. His eyes trail back up to your eyes and he tilts his head slightly down.

“Keys are in my pants pocket.”

You quickly nod, whispering out an ‘okay’. Your face burns as you have to get closer to him to not knock into his arms. The angle is slightly awkward, your hands slip into his pants pocket and your face burns from having your hand so close to his…thing. As you try to find his keys, Miguel looks down at you with a heated look. He watches silently for a few minutes before looking back up and over your shoulder to the older woman. His face is masked in indifference, maintaining eye contact with her until she fidgets and turns away without saying a word.

At the same time she walks into her own apartment, you make a sound of victory as you finally retrieve his keys. You dangle them in his face with a proud smile, and he gives you an amused smirk. He steps away from his apartment door, giving you room to step in front of him and unlock his door. As you insert the key, you feel Miguel press up against your back. His warmth seeps into your spine and you are quick to bite your tongue so you do not let out a squeal.

His breath tickles your neck and ear, warm and slightly minty. “What did I tell you about standing up for yourself, hmm cariño?”

The question rumbles with his voice and you have to hold your breath in order to not make an embarrassing sound. You turn to look at him over your shoulder and instantly regret it. He has not moved his face yet, and you are a breath away from him. If you leaned forward the slightest bit, your noses would be touching. You gulp nervously, and Miguel’s eyes trail down to your lips once again. He lets out a deep hum as you lick them nervously.

“I- she’s not that mean to me.” You whisper out in the older woman’s defense. You cannot help the way your lashes flutter as you try to meet his eyes.

Miguel scoffs at your defense, finally backing away from you. He shifts his hold on the bags, freeing his hand to turn the doorknob. Your hand is still there, and your breath hitches when his large hand encompasses yours. His hand moves both yours and the doorknob, making a combined effort to open the door. You are still watching him from over your shoulder, mouth slightly opened in awe. Miguel looks down at you, something playful in his eyes as he tilts his head to the side.

“You’re blocking the doorway, cariño. The ice cream I got you is going to melt.”

Your blush returns from the pet name and you stutter out an apology as you rush inside his apartment. It’s warm, and you’re hit with the smell of him. You find the light switch and turn on the lights, flooding the whole place with a warm glow. Miguel follows you into the kitchen, placing the paper bags on the dining room table. He rummages through them, glaring at you when you try to grab one to start helping. His hands connect with something cold, and he pulls out a personal pint of ice cream. He hands it over to you and you turn it around to see the label. Your eyes instantly light up when you read the brand and flavor. Last week you had ranted to Miguel about how the grocery store did not have your favorite ice cream in stock as he was fixing a problem with your internet. The whole time he just hummed along, you did not actually think he was listening.

He smiles softly at you as you beam up at him. He turns back to the groceries, sighing when he sees your hand reaching for the bags again. He turns to you with a bored expression. He gently removes your hands from the bag, telling you to go eat your ice cream before it melts. You grumble playfully under your breath, complaining about how you were supposed to be helping. He chuckles as he follows after you, getting a spoon out for you.

“I thought the whole point was that I was supposed to help you put the groceries away, not eat them.”

Your complaining is cut off by a yelp when Miguel grabs your waist. He lifts you up, putting you on top of the counter. Your eyes are wide as you look at him and his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You squirm slightly from his proximity.

“You can help me by sitting prettily and keeping me company. Tell me about your day.”

He pulls away then, returning to the dining room table and carrying a bag to the counter next to you. Your eyes are still bashful as you watch him, quietly opening your ice cream and beginning to eat it. Miguel starts to pull contents from the bag and looks over at you expectantly. Hesitantly, you begin to go through your day, easing into it the more you talk. You speak between bites of ice cream, half paying attention to Miguel as he walks around the kitchen to place things in their proper places. Occasionally, he looks over at you as you speak, his eyes trained on the way you place the spoon in your mouth and lick at the delicious treat.

You are almost done when he puts the last thing away. He walks over to you as you continue talking absentmindedly, just finished slipping the spoon out of your mouth again. You stop talking when Miguel’s eyes drop to your mouth, his thumb coming up the swipe at your lower lip. When he pulls it away, a bit of melted ice cream is stuck to his skin. His eyes meet yours again when he brings it to his mouth, licking it away. He hums in appreciation for the taste.

Your mouth drops open with a gasp as you watch, eyes trained on the pink muscle. You watch as his lips form a sly smile, and you blush as you look back into his eyes. But his eyes are still trained on your parted mouth, eyes dilated and hungry. He leans forward slightly, hand returning to rub at your bottom lip before he replaces it with his lips. He is not kissing you exactly, only sucking on your lip until it is swollen and red. He gives it a small nip before he pulls away, his hands falling to rub your thighs. It causes a small whimper to escape your mouth and Miguel basks in the noise.

His hand seeps closer and closer to the area between your thighs, grabbing the carton of ice cream and moving it to the side. His hands hastily return to the area between your thighs, fingers brushing against your center. Your breath hitches and you look down to where his hands are. Your attention is snapped away when his gravelly voice meets your ears.

“Continue with the story, querida. You don’t sound like you finished.”

You stutter over your words, the topic of conversation blanking from your mind. Miguel chuckles knowingly, his fingers continuing to brush up and down until they land on your clothed bud. He presses into it hard enough so you can feel it through the fabric of your pants and panties, gently reminding you where you left off. You nod nervously, hands snapping up to meet his shoulders as you feel wetness rushing into your panties. You stutter and choke on your words, eyes shutting as you rotate your hips sloppily into his hand. The movement is jerky, and you feel slightly embarrassed at how painfully obvious it is that no one has ever touched you like this before. But Miguel seems to like it, likes the idea that you’re untouched and he is the only person who has seen you like this.

It gets even better when you make those soft noises, cutting yourself off and having to be reminded about what you were saying. Miguel continues his hand movements, pressing into you and rubbing and stroking. Your wetness has seeped through your panties, dampening the material of your leggings. If you were not lost in how good it feels, you would have been grossed out and uncomfortable. A weak call of his name escapes you and Miguel looks up from your cunt to look at your face. He hums in acknowledgement, watching as you try to pull his face closer to yours in a kiss.

He swiftly avoids it, and you would have curled into yourself at the blunt rejection if you did not become distracted by his mouth suck and licking along your neck and jaw. Your mouth falls open with a moan, head leaning back to give him more room. He groans against your skin, fingers pressing tight circles to your clit. With a few hard circles, your back arches and your hold on him tightens. Gasping moans leave you and you feel the band in you snap, releasing more wetness into your panties as you finish. Miguel pulls his head away from your neck, keeping his fingers to your bud as you ride out the orgasm. Once you slump back down, he pulls his hands away. As you catch your breath, Miguel cleans up the mess on the counter. He reaches over, closing your melted ice cream and putting the spoon in the sink.

You are still in a daze when he pushes the warm container in your hands, his own hands gentle as he lifts you off the counter. Your eyes are glossy in after-lust as he gently guides you out of his apartment and into yours. His warm hand leaves the small of your back, massaging your sides before he whispers a thank you into your ear for your help. You are only pulled completely out of your daze when you hear your door lock and close as Miguel leaves. You turn to look at the door, cheeks blazing as you clutch tightly onto your ice cream.

You are totally getting a noise complaint for that old woman tomorrow.

Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

Extra 1

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emphistic · 6 months ago

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Forget-me-nots

A/N: call me Nick Cannon the way im out here rawdogging this fever

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“Hey, babe,” you said, catching Sukuna by surprise. You placed your hands on the back of his gaming chair, “I’m gonna go on a walk. D’you wanna come with?”

“I’d rather go for a run, but God knows your slow ass wouldn’t be able to keep up.” Sukuna removed his headset and placed it on his desk, before following you out of the room.

If he had kept his headset on for just a little longer, Sukuna would’ve heard the protests and complaints of Gojo. The white-haired man was utterly disappointed at Sukuna for leaving in the middle of a game, who was going to carry him now that Sukuna was gone?

Sukuna looked you up and down, watching you as you put on your shoes, and let out a scoff, getting your attention. “You’re forgetting something.”

You met his gaze, “Uh huh, go on.”

“A jacket, dumbass. A jacket.”

You waved your hand around, dismissing his suggestion. “Don’t be silly, Sukuna. It doesn’t go with my outfit.”

“That so?” He raised a brow.

“Mhm.”

“It’s literally dark out, babe. Who are you trying to impress?”

The two of you continued on your way out of the complex without putting an end to your usual lighthearted banter. The sky was clear of clouds when you made it past the front doors; and cool air immediately hit your skin. Okay, maybe Sukuna wasn’t wrong in reminding you to layer up.

But, despite his demeanor on the exterior, Sukuna was far from cloud nine. Was that selfish of him? To truly have everything, and yet, still want more? He managed to get himself a loving girlfriend, not to mention, one that was exceptionally beautiful, both on the inside and outside. He should be content; he should be satisfied. But how could he? When guilt gnawed at him every second, every minute, every hour?

Sukuna was afraid, deathly.

He could tell you about the bet, but it was inevitable that you would leave him right after. Or, he could choose to keep silent about the bet for the rest of his life. But that would mean Naoya Zen’in having a leg up on him, and that was no good.

Sukuna couldn’t help but sneak a few glances at your face, admiring your elated expression. He liked the sound of your voice, and hearing you laugh. The thought of you being gone plagued his mind, and he knew he would be a dead man walking if that nightmare became true.

Things truly could not be worse for the pink-haired man, who felt utterly pathetic. He felt vulnerable, and weak. Completely opposite of the image most people portrayed him as. Which is quite amusing, to say the least.

Sukuna was at a crossroad, but it was clear he wasn’t choosing either path. Maybe it was the worst choice, maybe it was the best choice, but Sukuna knew that doing nothing was probably the most impactful choice, and so he decided to let God play out his fate, leaving him to wait day and night, never knowing when you would find out and his world would flip upside down.

To bet something is to “risk something, usually a sum of money, against someone else’s on the basis of the outcome of a future event, such as the result of a race or game.” Sukuna knew that, when he was drunk at that damned party. Sukuna knew that, when he signed up for this. Sukuna knew; he wasn’t stupid; he was a grown man. And yet, he had never felt so little.

“—Nobara was telling me, after the party, about my . . . complexion, or, I don’t know. My skin was apparently glowing—”

“Are you a virgin or something?” Sukuna cut you off with a laugh, turning to look at you. And, not that he had any knowledge in the field, but, with the way your hair blew ever so slightly in the wind, and with the way the moonlight casted upon your face, illuminating your best features, you looked just like a cinematic masterpiece.

You gave him a pointed look, as if to say, You would know, and again, Sukuna laughed.

“It’s called afterglow, babe. Science-y stuff, I figured you would already know, but I guess not.”

“Can you go one second without being rude?”

“You’re funny; don’t get your hopes up too high,” Sukuna ruffled your hair as you both continued down the dimly lit street.

It was a quiet, peaceful night. There would usually be something happening a block away, maybe sirens in the distance, kids playing around and screaming, but there was not. Maybe that was a blessing, maybe that was a curse, but it left you and Sukuna both to your own thoughts, and that was comforting enough.

“Is everything okay? Did you have a long day?” you asked, breaking the overwhelming silence. You turned to look at Sukuna with worry written all over your expression.

Sukuna had been tense ever since he got home, like a heavy weight had been placed upon his shoulders. You thought it strange; your boyfriend was a carefree man. He was easygoing and laid back; he knew how to start up a conversation, get everyone’s mood up, but this. . . This wasn’t Sukuna.

Whenever you two went on walks or runs together, sure, there’s a silence, but it was never like. . . Like something was wrong. It was never like this.

“Hm? No, I’m fine. I just have a lot to think about, that’s all. Don’t worry for me, ‘kay?” Sukuna gave you a smile, but it only tightened the knot in your chest, your concern doing the opposite of diminishing.

Truth was, you didn’t know what to think. And if you had to be honest, you couldn’t say your mind hadn’t wandered to the idea of Sukuna being unsatisfied with your relationship. Was he upset with you? Did he think you too much? You shuddered just thinking about it.

Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna watched as your eyebrows furrowed, and you chewed at your bottom lip. It was a habit of yours — the latter, and Sukuna noticed you only gave in to it whenever you were anxious or deep in thought.

“Hey, I was thinking, how about we go out sometime?” asked Sukuna, out of the blue.

You two hadn’t been on a date since the baseball game, and that was a while ago. Sukuna missed spending an entire day with you, and was desperate for something fun to take his mind off of the bet.

“You make it sound like we haven’t even kissed yet,” you covered your mouth, trying, but failing, to stifle a giggle.

“What else did you want me to say, huh?” Sukuna humored you, mentally patting himself on the back for managing to lift the tension.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something like, ‘Do you want to—,’ actually, I have no idea. How do you ask someone on a not-first date?”

“That’s a good question,” Sukuna added. “Now that I think of it, I’m not sure.”

“Eh, whatever. Any other way is totally better than yours.”

“Now who’s the rude one, hm? Do you want to go on that date or what?”

You laughed, “I’m only teasing, ‘Kuna. Of course I do; I don’t even know why you’re asking.”

“It’s polite.”

“You? Polite? Hilarious.” You placed a hand on Sukuna’s arm, but he pulled away, feigning to be hurt by your words. But you knew he was just trying to joke around.

“Awh, baby, don’t be sad. How can I make it up to my handsome, handsome boyfriend?”

“You can’t.” Sukuna turned his head away from you, hiding his grin.

You didn’t take no for an answer, and stood on your tiptoes in order to plant a wet kiss on Sukuna’s cheek, even going as far to voice a Mwah! sound.

When Sukuna still didn’t look at you, you started to wonder if he was genuinely upset. But when he abruptly turned around to smash his lips on yours, all other thoughts in your head completely vanished and you melted in his arms. Placing your hands on his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around your waist, you kissed him back just as fervently.

One of Sukuna’s hands wandered down your middle to the small of your back and rested just above your behind.

With your boyfriend’s lips on yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you, and his murmuring of sweet nothings every now and then, all previous worries and concerns of yours were no match. Maybe everything was fine, after all.

“You look good,” Sukuna said, a sultry look in his eyes as he shamelessly checked you out.

You couldn’t help the heat rising to your cheeks, “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He shrugged, “I try.”

“So, where are we headed?” You asked, immediately after entering your boyfriend’s car.

Sukuna hadn’t told you anything since he asked you out. Only thing he said was, “Look pretty for me, like you always do, and bring a jacket or something.” But since he knew there was no way in hell you were going to listen to that last bit, he already knew he was giving you his hoodie if you needed it.

“Ah, you wouldn’t know,” said Sukuna, as he started driving down the road.

“Oh, yeah? What, you gonna drive me to a secluded area and chop off my head or something? Is that why you’re being so lowkey about all of this?”

“Would you like that?” Sukuna quipped, turning to look at you as he pulled up to a red light.

You laughed, “I don’t know; I haven’t tried it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

It wasn’t long till Sukuna and you arrived at a crowded space overshadowed by the large buildings beside it. Said space was filled from corner to corner with food vendors and other small shops selling trinkets, clothes, toys, et cetera. There was music booming from speakers located all around, and the air smelled like a variety of food that had you salivating on the spot. Not to mention, the beautiful array of string lights above all the stalls, giving an authentic sense and feel to things.

Families, friends, couples, and individuals walked through the streets of the area. Carrying toys that lit up or made music with a simple click of a button, holding small paper plates stacked with food, bargaining prices of intricate garments, or simply conversing with their companions. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, gossip, jokes, whispers.

The exciting, fun-filled atmosphere of the place was surely popular among its customers. And, even taking one look at it all, you knew you were bound to have endless entertainment and enjoyment here, tonight.

“What do you think?” Sukuna asked, noticing you had gone quiet. His voice was barely above a whisper, saddened by the idea of you hating it. He thought you might’ve liked something like this, that’s why he picked this place. But maybe his judgment was—

“It’s—I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s beautiful, and the food smells amazing,” you smiled, looking at Sukuna.

Unbeknownst to you, the pink-haired man let out a sigh of relief upon hearing your answer.

“I used to go here all the time with Yuuji back when we were little; he loved the oyakodon. I don’t know if they still have the same one he preferred.”

“We should take a picture, babe. Make him jealous that we’re having a better dinner than him.”

Sukuna laughed, “You’re starting to sound like me. I think I’m rubbing off on you, squirt.”

“It’s only payback since he ate the last of my Häagen-Dazs. I was saving it,” you grumbled, still holding a grudge about the distant memory.

“Sure, sure.”

Sukuna snaked an arm around your waist, directing you to a red, striped stall. Smoke flying from the back of it as people fried and cooked and did whatever. “Jakoten?” he suggested.

“Obviously.”

If there was one thing you learned while being with Sukuna, it was that he was an eater. He wasn’t picky, no, quite the opposite, really. He could eat literally anything he got his hands on. Sukuna had a strict diet — being an athlete and all that — but he had his off days, where he could eat anything he pleased.

And, although you are a little less “wild” compared to him, you two often shared interest in the same dishes. Like jakoten, for example. But that’s a simple one, most people like it, so that’s not much good of an instance.

Sukuna and you waited near the front of the food stand, and when it was time and your order came out, Sukuna helped put a cupped hand under your chin, catching all of the tiny crumbs in his palm.

“Good, right?”

Your reply came muffled, as you chewed on the fried fish paste. “Mhm.”

“Where do you want to go next?” Jakoten was delicious, Sukuna couldn’t deny it, but you would be wrong if you thought that was enough to satisfy his hunger.

“Hm, we should go and see if they have tonkatsu. I’m kinda hungry for a main dish now.”

Together, you and Sukuna walked hand in hand around the people-filled space, seeking out different meals to try. Contrary to your main mission — finding a filling dish, you and Sukuna both had your fair share of small appetizers and sweet treats. When you two decided unanimously to find a table to sit down at and enjoy your dinner, you weren’t aware of how difficult of a journey that was.

To say the place was packed was an understatement, and most people didn’t even try to find seats, instead opting to stand and walk the whole time. After getting hundreds of steps in just to come out fruitless, you and Sukuna gave up on even the idea of sitting down.

“You know, I was thinking,” you began, while picking at the greens on your plate, “we should totally get a bowl of noodles, and recreate that scene from Lady and the Tramp.”

“We totally should not.” Sukuna shook his head, an unamused look on his face as he bit into a Japanese type of skewered chicken.

“C’mon, it’ll be cute. And, and, we would get to kiss,” you pursued.

“Is kissing you supposed to tempt me?”

“I—How dare you; you know what, don’t talk to me.” You turned away from a laughing Sukuna.

“Aw, sweetheart, I was just joking. ‘sides, who would pay for your food if you walked away from me?”

You turned back around.

Pleased with himself — having gotten your attention back, Sukuna gave a boyish smile, “That’s more like it,” before swinging an arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple.

You squeezed your eyes shut at the feeling, “Don’t, ‘Kuna. You’re going to make me drop my food.”

“So cold. Your boyfriend’s giving you kisses and you tell him to stop? That’s a new low, even for you,” Sukuna feigned a hurt tone, but remained smiling all the while.

“Mm, yeah. Sulk all you want, you were the one who refused my kisses first. Don’t you dare forget.”

“You’re really never going to let that go, are you? Ah, I know, would this,” he pulled out a wad of cash, “change your mind?”

Sukuna had seen you eyeing a ramune-selling vendor ever since the both of you arrived. Of course, after being around you for so long, he was quick to learn that ramune was one of your weak spots. You were a fiend for anything sweet, after all. And the popular carbonated drink was perfect for the current weather.

Seeing your eyes widen to saucers, Sukuna knew he had won you over.

“Just, get me one, too, alright? You’re not the only thirsty person here.”

As you began to walk in the direction of the stand, Sukuna abruptly pulled you back, “Actually . . . they might have soju, so get me a cup of that instead. You know the kind I like.” And with that — and a final kiss to your cheek, Sukuna sent you off.

It didn’t take very long to acquire your drinks, as the line was pretty short seeing as most people were starting to leave the area considering the late time. On the other hand, it did take you a fairly drawn-out amount of time to find Sukuna. For he wasn’t in the same place he was before; Sukuna was now standing in a much more secluded area. And, he wasn’t alone, either.

The blond dude, who hosted that party, was standing in front of a very tense-looking Sukuna. To passersby and the naked eye, the two men might look like they were simply a pair of friends conversing. But to you, you noticed Sukuna’s clenched jaw. You noticed his arms, crossed over his chest. You noticed his eyes, usually holding a light to them, were dark, and Sukuna was glowering.

You assumed they started talking a little while after you left Sukuna to go shopping, and, as strong as your morals were, you couldn’t help but listen in to their conversation.

“—I’m surprised, I didn’t foresee a chance to meet you tonight, captain. And, another date? You’re really scoring, aren’t you? Though, I can’t say I expected less from the Ryomen.”

“Look, Zen’in, I told you — a million times, actually, I’m done playing this stupid game of yours. Grow up, or, better yet, find something else to entertain your fucked up brain.”

“Woah, didn’t mean to hit a nerve there. I was just about to ask — since we’re already here — if you wanted your cash now, or later. Wouldn’t want to intrude on your little date.” Naoya let out a low laugh, “You know, you’re really starting to drain my bank account. First kiss, two dates, and you fucked her? Man, you’ve outdone yourself.”

With each sentence that man spoke, your jaw only dropped lower and lower. Your chest tightened, and it felt unbearably suffocating to breathe. Tears threatened to spill at any second, but you still weren’t sure if Naoya was lying, and making all of this up.

God, let this be just a nightmare.

Sukuna couldn’t have. . . Sukuna wouldn’t—he wouldn’t do something like that to you, right? He wouldn’t use someone, all for a silly bet.

Heat rose to your face, as emotions bottled up inside of you. You didn’t know how to feel. Angry? Sad? Betrayed?

When the blond noticed you standing only a few feet away, and snickered, “Whoops, looks like I am interrupting something.”

Naoya flashed you a fake smile, before turning back to Sukuna, “Take care, Ryomen.” He pressed multiple hundred dollar bills onto the pink-haired man’s hand, and took his leave.

Sukuna hadn’t noticed you before Naoya said something, and when he saw your face, hurt written all over your features, his eyes softened. He tried to take a step forward, but with every step he took, you took two backwards.

“Sukuna, I—I don’t even know what to say to you,” your voice cracked, and Sukuna swore his heart shattered right then and there at the look on your face. “Is it true? — the things he said?”

It pained Sukuna, to see you hold out hope. Hope for him. Hope for your relationship. He was undeserving of such grace to be bestowed upon him, and couldn’t say anything but, “I’m sorry.”

Your expression morphed into that of confusion, and then into one of frustration and anger. You couldn’t believe Sukuna just threw away everything you two had, shared, dreamed of, all for some money and a stupid bet.

“Was nothing we had real to you? Was everything just a big ole lie you fed me so that you could see some more zeros at the end of your already large enough fortune? . . .Sukuna, answer me.”

Your voice got softer as you spoke, till it was just above a whisper. Your breathing was uneven, and came in gasps. This was all too much for you to wrap your head around.

“I trusted you, I gave you everything. You saw me vulnerable, you saw me naked, you . . . you—” You weren’t even aware when it started, but tears were streaming down your cheeks at this point, and even wiping them away with your sleeve didn’t help.

All the while, the man who brought you so much joy, and now, so much pain, could do nothing but stare back at you in silence. His eyes were empty, the light gone. The man you loved, gone. Sukuna didn’t try and defend his stupidity, he had no reason to. He was in the wrong, and was — rightfully so — being berated for his doings. Sukuna loved you, but pride was a much stronger feeling than love.

“I thought you changed, Sukuna. I thought you matured, and grew up, and learned, but . . . God, I was so wrong. You’re nothing different than the boy who tormented me in high school, aren’t you. But, I don’t understand. . . What did I do to you? What did I do for you to—to treat me like this? You willingly accepted to be paid to take me out?”

“Was I not enough for you, Ryomen? That you felt the need to be rewarded for staying with me?” Your voice was so, so soft; it sent a pang through Sukuna’s heart.

In your eyes, Sukuna now looked so different, after having learned what you did. He was really nothing but a man. A man whose pride and dignity and ego took the best, and worst, of him.

“I can’t believe I even trusted you. But, you know what, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what you think of me. It doesn’t matter what I did. Anything regarding you doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

You’re not sure what took over you at that very moment, but you do know that throwing a drink at a man does contribute to getting your emotions out. “There, you can have your soju, you can have your money, you can have whatever you want. Good bye, Ryomen. And good fucking night.”

You had no way home; Sukuna was the one who drove you two here, and you both knew that. But you didn’t care. As long as you got away from that man you would be okay. You would be okay. . .

At that very moment, after seeing you storm away from him, and into the crowds of people — who appeared shocked to see a woman with mascara running down her cheeks, — Sukuna understood the term ‘significant other’. He realized you were his other half. You completed him. But now. . . You were gone, disappeared, left — forever, if he didn’t do something about it. Sukuna wasn’t whole. Hell, he wasn’t even half. He was nothing, nothing without you.

It wasn’t like Sukuna to cry; he was a grown man. And yet, he had never felt so little.

As the days went on, Sukuna couldn’t have been more stupid as to think you would talk with him after a week’s time, and that everything would go back to normal. He wanted this to be a nightmare. But oh, how wrong he was. For days upon days upon days, you greeted him with nothing but silence.

You blocked him on all social media, you premeditated routes to avoid him on campus, you deleted his number, you did everything to erase the face of the man whom you called the love of your life from your mind. The both of you went from texting or calling each other almost every night to complete radio silence. It drove Sukuna to the brink of insanity.

“—I’m just saying, you should go tell her you’re sorry. I mean, that was a really fucked up thing to do. And, even coming from you, I’m surprised.” Yuuji popped another potato chip into his mouth as he lounged on his older brother’s sofa.

“Don’t you think I’ve done that already? She hates my guts, Yuuji, and—and I don’t blame her but. . . Right now, she thinks I’m a dickhead who just used her for money. But that’s totally not true.”

Yuuji raised a brow, as if to say, Are you sure about that? And Sukuna sighed, plopping down beside his brother.

“Okay, I’ll admit, I technically was using her, but only at the very beginning, but everything after our first phone call was real, genuine. I didn’t get into this whole bet thing to hurt her, I was just trying to prove Naoya’s bitchass wrong and maybe make his wallet lighter at the same time. . . I really, really love her, Yuu—”

“Y’know, I’m not a big fan of listening to your drama-filled life, but I’m also not very keen on hearing you be a sap.”

Sukuna, outright ignoring his brother, continued on with his speech anyway, “God, this might be the most stupid thing I’ve ever done.” He ran a hand down his face, exasperated.

“It is.”

Sukuna shot him a pointed look, and the younger boy only shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, dude, I’m pretty sure your girl broke things off permanently. Besides, there’s not much you can do to redeem yourself, anyway. Betting on a relationship is a pretty shitty move.”

“Do I look like I don’t know that?” Sukuna grumbled, stealing a handful of chips from Yuuji’s bowl.

“Well, you could’ve at least explained yourself while you had the chance, instead of just saying you’re sorry. I mean, poor girl, you faked a relationship with her and that’s all she knows.”

Sukuna — deep in thought, held his head in his hands.

“I’m sure if you tried to give an explanation she would at least hear you out. Eh, it might not even be too late to get her a bouquet or something. Whaddya know, I heard girls liked those kinds of things, when you get them their favorite flower and stuff.”

Yuuji paused, “You do know her favorite flower, right?”

“. . .”

“Man, I’m an optimistic person at heart, but this is just. . . You might be a lost cause, ‘Kuna.”

Sukuna had a lot of hope. Key word: had. As in, used to have.

Attempt no1:

They say Forget-me-nots (also referred to as Scorpion Grasses) represent true love, and respect or, at least, something of the like. But, the flower also — when gifted to someone — symbolizes that you’ll always hold them in your heart and in your thoughts and in your mind. The flower could additionally be interpreted to suggest fidelity, and being truthful, genuine, to someone you love.

Now, Sukuna knew you were smart. And he never doubted that fact, despite all of his previous teasing and joking of that. But he had never wished for someone to have knowledge about the meanings of flowers more than he has at this very moment.

It’s funny, one can laugh, but it’s true that Sukuna spent countless hours researching different flowers and their archaic all the way to their modern meanings just so he could prove maybe he wasn’t that much of a dick, after all.

But maybe, he should’ve put a little more effort into the planning of his execution rather than the organizing part of it.

Sukuna knew you were avoiding him, even going as far as changing your daily routes to classes even if it meant walking farther distances. He was more impressed than offended at how dedicated you were to the whole “Never-Seeing-His-Face-Again” bit.

There really wasn’t much he could do to be able to see you in person, since you blocked all contact with him, but . . . Sukuna did happen to think of one way he could meet up with you.

While he may not have been the best boyfriend, Sukuna was still . . . decent, sorta, if you put aside the whole bet crisis. And, even if he couldn’t remember the purpose of your Student Council meetings, he did remember the directions to where your briefings took place. Call him a stalker or serial killer or whatever, it doesn’t change the fact he drove you to and from those damned meetings.

Pacing to and fro outside of a library was already strange enough; being covered in tattoos and having pink hair did not help with the amount of stares Sukuna received, but right now, he couldn’t care less. Sukuna gripped the bouquet of Forget-me-nots — and other flowers, but it was mainly filled with Forget-me-nots, like his life depended on it.

He went over his speech — that he had previously practiced with Yuuji the night before — over a hundred times in his head. But when he suddenly heard you call out his name out of confusion, all that he managed out was a plethora of garbled “I’m sorry’s” and “Please’s.”

“Sukuna? What—what are you doing here?” you asked, bewilderment written all over your features as your eyes wandered down to the enormous bouquet in his hands. Being greeted by your ex-boyfriend right after finishing a meeting was not on today’s Bingo card for you.

“I—I know the other night was . . . a mess,” Sukuna scratched the back of his neck, “but I didn’t get to explain myself and—”

“No, it’s okay, you have nothing to explain. Everything was a lie; everything you said was a lie; everything we did was a lie. See? I get it; no need for your clarification.” You shook your head, and began walking down the street to your next destination.

Even after knowing Sukuna for so long, you were a fool for thinking you could “outwalk” him. The male had no intention of letting you leave without you hearing him out first, and he was able to catch up to you within just a few strides.

“Can you just let me talk? For a second?”

You quickened your pace, trying your hardest to get him off your tail, but he just wouldn’t budge. Doesn’t this count as harassment?

“There’s nothing for you to say, Sukuna; I’m not wasting my time with you on this.”

Sukuna murmured your name, “Please, there’s more to the story than you think. I didn’t accept the bet to hurt you, I. . .” His voice trailed off as he wondered what to do next, but he suddenly remembered the bouquet and shoved it into your arms.

“What is this?” Your face morphed into one of incertitude, your voice softening as you examined the bouquet, but still, your pace never slowed.

“Special flowers, for a special girl.”

You rolled your eyes, again, quickening your pace; you were now speed walking while holding a comically large bouquet. Sukuna was finally not the only one being stared at, though he didn’t revel much in that fact.

“Don’t say that. You know we’re not together anymore; we’re over. Are you ever going to get that through your skull?” You finally stopped in your tracks, and turned to look at Sukuna — half because you were out of breath from walking so fast and half because you wanted to see the expression on his face.

“We don’t have to be; c’mon, I want to make things right—”

“Sukuna! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” A high pitched voice called out, out of the blue.

You both turned your heads to see who it came from.

“You never texted me after I gave you my number last week. Don’t tell me you’re shy; there’s nothing scary about this girl,” the short brunette giggled.

In truth, Sukuna had no idea who this was. Probably just some rando who hit on him after seeing him play basketball.

“Lady, I don’t even remember your name—”

But the girl had already caught up with Sukuna and looped her arm around his, acting all friendly and whatnot. Sukuna looked at you for help, but you merely scoffed, amused with the sight, “You shouldn’t have to make things right in the first place. You chose this, don’t you remember?”

Exhaling, you turned on your heel and walked away.

“Nobs, I think I might take a break from the dating scene, for a while. I mean, I’ve only recently begun to be able to look at Sukuna’s face without breaking down in tears.” While you tried to appear better off, your voice gave it all away. You weren’t completely over him yet.

“But, you’re hot; you’re young. This could be the perfect opportunity for you to make Sukuna regret losing you.” Nobara tried her hardest to get you to go to this party with her; she knew about your recent breakup, of course, but she was apparently too scared to go on her own, since Maki was unavailable.

“If Sukuna’s going that just gives me all the more reason to not go,” you stopped shoving ice cream in your mouth for a second to really get your point across.

Nobara sprawled across your bedroom floor, miserable, but not as miserable as you. She started thinking about not going to the party after all, but she had been looking forward to it all week! Ugh, going alone is the most “Loser thing” ever.

You paused your eating, and thought to yourself, If Sukuna’s really desperate to explain to me and apologize, he must be in his feelings, so he probably won’t go to the party.

“Ah, you know what, maybe I can go to that party, after all—”

“Really? Oh, my God! Yes!” Nobara immediately jumped up from the floor and threw her arms around you, trapping you in a hug.

“I’m still stuck on why you’re so happy. I seriously do not get what’s so great about this party.”

“Everything, duh.”

“Whose house is this, again?” you asked, once you and Nobara pulled up at the address you put into the GPS.

“Uh, dunno. I’m pretty sure Yuuji does, though; he got me the invite.”

At the mention of his name, your mind immediately went to his brother. Which was your first mistake, since tonight was supposed to be fun, and help you forget about everything that went down.

“Oh, so they’re in the same year as us, then?”

“Mm, probably. C’mon, what are you stalling for, let’s party!” Nobara dragged you out of the car and continued dragging you until you both arrived in front of the door.

Upon entering, you noticed the house was . . . nice — definitely not a mansion, unlike someone else’s, but it was the size of a typical “party house”. It looked sorta old, but it wasn’t rundown, so maybe people just used it a lot for large gatherings like this.

Did you want to play Seven Minutes in Heaven? No. Were your protests overlooked? Of course. Did you sit down in the circle? Yes. Yes, you did. This was now your second time playing the game, and your opinion of it hadn’t changed at all. Being surrounded by drunk or high college kids instantly soured your mood, and you almost regretted agreeing to join Nobara.

A brunette girl, whom you recognized as the girl from yesterday, spun the bottle first, and the game commenced. What’s different about this house is that it has multiple closets, so the game progressed pretty quickly, with several couples being in their respective closets at once.

When it came down to your turn, you spun the bottle, though, not without some hesitancy, at first.

1 . . .

2 . . .

3 . . .

The empty bottle went around the circle three times before it landed on . . . Sukuna? What the fuck? You hadn’t even noticed he was here. This happened last time, too. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with this game? Is it cursed or something? God.

There was visible and audible shock amongst the crowd.

“Didn’t this happen at Naoya’s party?”

“Yeah, it did!”

“That’s crazy.”

“Look, I know this might not be the best situation to say this but—”

Despite your misgivings about doing so, you went in the closet with Sukuna anyway. And after locking the door behind him, Sukuna turned to you with a desperate look on his face.

Attempt no2:

“I’m giving you seven minutes, because that’s all the time we have in here anyway and also because I’m bored and curious as to what you think is a valid apology.”

“Okay, that’s—that’s enough for me. . . I know — that from the moment we met, it started off bad. Beyond bad. Horrible, even. But I want to make things right between us. Because, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And, I fucked things up. I followed through with Naoya’s bet when I was drunk and out of my mind. I should’ve ended it the next day but I didn’t; I wanted to prove to Naoya I could take you out. Because . . . I’ve liked you for a long time, probably since high school, even. And I know I never expressed that in a good way, but that’s only because I never realized it myself. So, seeing him just dangle the money in front of me, I just—I just thought of the money as a nice ‘incentive’ or something.”

“That’s a weird thing to think.”

“Yeah, I know. And I was stupid to think that that justified what I was doing. But, everything after our first phone call was real, I swear. Nothing we did together was fake or me just using you to get money. But, I won’t deny that that doesn’t change the fact I was an asshole—”

“You are an asshole.”

“Okay, that I will admit. Yes, I’m an asshole. But, I’m sorry. I’m a sorry asshole. Heh.”

“Did you just laugh at your own joke?”

“I—uh—” Sukuna took in a deep breath, “I know you could have as many me’s in your life, and hate them all the same. But I’ll only ever have one you. And that’s all I need. So please, I won’t ask for you to take me back; I don’t deserve that, but please, I just want you to hear me out.

“You can punch me, kick me, block my number and delete it, but please, don’t ignore what I’m saying to you right now. Know that I’m sorry — though sorry doesn’t quite cut it, but please know. Know that I love you. Know that I’m completely devoted to you. Know that I will kiss the ground with which you walk upon. Know that I love you, for fuck’s sake, and will wait for you to accept that — you don’t have to love me too, just accept that I love you. Please, know.”

Sukuna’s voice was soft as he spoke with such earnestness you almost wanted to feel guilty. You knew what he did was unforgivable. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel as if you wanted to just forget all that had happened and go back to how things used to be between you two.

You would be a terrible liar to say you hadn’t missed Sukuna, and although he was a stupid asshole, his words proved he did nothing with ill intention. He agreed to the bet because that was the extra push he needed to be able to ask you out. He couldn’t have done it by himself, out of fear or anxiety or whatever. It was an impossible thought — the idea of Ryomen Sukuna being scared of rejection, but nobody was superhuman. Everyone has emotions.

Speaking of which, maybe it was an emotional choice to take a step forward. Maybe it was an illogical choice to finally meet Sukuna’s eyes since you two entered the closet. Maybe it was an impulsive choice to wrap your arms around him, bringing him into a tight hug, with your head resting on his chest. But, either way, you felt it was the right choice.

At first, Sukuna was tense, surprised at the sudden embrace. But, he remembered it was one he longed for, ever since that fateful night, and it didn’t take long for him to return the hug, wrapping his arms around your torso.

Through silent, unspoken words only the both of you shared and understood, you two basked in the moment of finally getting your love back. Sukuna had more words to say than he could speak. You had more feelings to share than you could show. The time you two spent apart was excruciatingly and regretfully (on your part) long.

On both sides there was an absence of something fundamental; whatever you two built while together was gone. But now? There’s not much to be said except for the light returning to those crimson eyes that you so loved.

It’s enigmatic; you don’t know what possessed you to speak up — your voice muffled due to burying your face in Sukuna’s chest. But you knew it was partially because of how long you spent bottling up your emotions: anger, sadness, regret, longing. All for one man, and one man only.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate your stupid brain, that managed to apologize whilst using math as metaphors. I hate your dumb smile, which still stuns me even after everything. I hate your annoying voice, which is the only thing I can fall asleep to. I hate your hair, which stands out in every crowd I enter to avoid you.

“I hate your motorcycle, which even the rational part of my mind still imagines hearing the engine of. I hate your hands, which I undeniably long to feel in my hair. I hate your way of talking to me, which I can never get bored of, no matter how hard I try. I hate when you lie your way out of the littlest of things. I hate when you’re not around, and I have no one to tell me jokes that don’t even make sense. I hate that you think you can just win me over because you got me flowers knowing they have a specific meaning.

“I hate that I hate you. I hate that I still love you.”

Hearing you sob your heart out while laying everything bare for him, Sukuna couldn’t help but place a kiss on your crown, burying his nose in your hair. After all, Sukuna had a feeling you were just listing parts of him you loved. But either way, he didn’t mind. This was simply the start of everything reverting back to normal, something both you and Sukuna longed for. And, —

In the end,

Sukuna didn’t want anything. He wanted everything. He wanted you. (you were his everything.)

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒

A/N: Thanks for all the love and support I’ve received on this series!!, it was definitely a pain to finish and every one of your comments and reblogs and likes definitely helped me get through writing this <3

Taglist: @beyond-your-stars @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin @fivehoneyharg @desihopelessromantic @lordbrainsnatcherr @hannas16 @acroso @msvalsius @call-memissbrightside @kelerina-ballerina @emikokomura @xiraxdl @sterzin @catobsessedlady @alwaysfreakingout @uhnanix @ssetsuka @wrldtups @lovra974 @rzcnlb @piercddprincess @satoru2716 @bananaminn @tomiokasecretlover @bigraga-sk @villainsevilandhot @5seos

#its COMPLETE finally #sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryomen x reader

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simonisferal · 8 months ago

Text

you said you liked it — scaramouche x gn! reader

synopsis: he doesn't even like you that much. wait...he does. fuck.

warnings: just pure fluff, scara being scara, mutual pinning / not an established relationship, inspired by apple cider by beabodoobee (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

notes: a little shorter than I wanted it to be but i was sleepy / i started playing my sleep playlist and i woke up instantly to write this 🫡 / not proofread but then again none of my works are so

you said you liked chocolates. scaramouche was never a sweets person anyways!

whatever you liked, whether it was plain chocolates or some fancy, expensive ones, he managed to bring them to your hands every few occasions. they were always wrapped in a soft lace, delicately delivered straight to you (he tried to ignore every other person that attempted to speak to him) just so they don't melt, he says.

if you're not picky, he even lets you eat the chocolates others gift him. why? he's not sure but food is food. he notices which sweets you ignore, eat, practically chow down on for future references. you know, in case he needs a human garbage disposal!

scaramouche doesn't stop there; he should've, but he doesn't.

"y/n. i'll leave you to it." he's vague as shit as he sets down a bag of sweets—not just any sweets, flavors and consistencies he knows you'll like—on your lap.

you eye them suspiciously. "what's the occasion? or is it another request for my talent of eating?" you somewhat joke. scara does not find you humorous.

he crosses his arms, already walking away and waving you off, dismissing the question. "you like those, don't you? go on and eat then before i change my mind."

you said you liked handmade gifts. scaramouche was gifted with craftsmanship, fortunately.

he held a sewing needle, slipping the thread in through the small hole and tied it. he ignored your attentive gaze at his hands. he skillfully worked, fixing up a patch on a shirt you had ripped. why was a piece of clothing so important? you had plenty of other things to wear (more than you'd like to admit but he can basically see your closet from his room).

your eyes never left the male's work while he finished. he snaps the thread and places the needle somewhere on his table. "there. you happy?" he lifts up the shirt and you quickly take it in your arms.

"thank you, thank you, thank you!!" you hold the simple clothing item close to your chest and scaramouche can't help but wonder why.

he scoffs, standing up and beginning to clean up after his simple task. "i don't know why you're so stuck up on a shirt; you have plenty of others."

you laugh. folding the shirt and setting it on your lap, you look at scara. "well i don't expect you to remember but this one's actually yours."

"and why do you have one of my shirts?" he refutes.

"because i like it." such a bold sentence coming from a person who ripped the fabric a few minutes ago but scaramouche accepts it. he sighs after a while—and after cleaning up his mess, he waves you off again.

he can't seem to say no to you, it's infuriating. "just don't stain it. i might need it later."

you said you liked nice guys. too bad scaramouche is not that. but hey, a personality change never hurt anybody. besides you deserve it—not many people can tolerate him at his highest.

he, besides giving you simple gifts, gave you words of encouragement. if you ever wanted to pursue anything (as stupid as it may be), he'll support you... even if that said support consists of constant berating and complaints, he's not going to stop your idiotic yet passionate mind.

"go on." he mutters, his eyes only on you as you attempt to do something stupid again. holding a brush up to a canvas, you merely scribble the page with a terrible artistic view. a red sky, a pink tree, a rose ocean—just what was your idea?

"you can't be colorblind, can you? if you aren't, this is just plain embarrassing for us both." you pout, not turning to see his assumed look of 'i told you so'.

you attempt painting again, just adding a few more splashes of color onto the 'ruined' canvas. "you wouldn't get it, scara. it's simply an artistic thing!"

he scoffs, like he always does, before sitting up from his chair and looking over your shoulder. not too many details were added but the pink tree had blossomed quite well and the rose ocean finally looked like a simple mirage rather than an actual pink-colored ocean. "not bad," he mutters.

"could be a whole ton better but who's judging?" scaramouche teases. you narrow your eyes at him with a pout,

"you are!"

you said you liked cheesy, romantic dates. it was a stupid request to fulfill, honestly. you practically bored him on the way there. but like always, he can't say no to such a pretty face.

it wasn't at all what he was expecting. he expected (with someone as terrible taste as you) to be lead towards a fast food chain or a crowded, elegant place.

it was a small picnic at the beach.

you two sat under a tree for a while, just conversing with each other. "what are you planning, y/n?" scaramouche raises an eyebrow and looks at you. you just looked back at him with a smile, a smile he wish didn't make his heart burn by just looking at it. "it's a surprise." so vague. too vague for the male.

he scoffs. it's obvious he wants to ask more questions but he doesn't have the heart to interrupt such a peaceful moment between the two of you. he just sits quietly beside you, watching the sun fade, the chocolates melts, the petals from the tree—a cherry blossom tree, he noted, fall down, and the breeze grow sweeter.

the sun hit scaramouche like an angel. his violet eyes looked like they were glowing like stars. he looked heavenly. his lips look soft, his hair was well-volumed, his presence was so fulfilling. he was so... perfect. "y/n, you can stop staring."

"i know," you whisper back. when did you suddenly become so sentimental? the jig was up.

the chocolates you loved so much, the 'date' you wanted so badly was there. what else did you want, what else did you like? "what is it?"

"you're nice. you're a nice guy."

scaramouche scoffs, "so?"

"i like nice guys." you both stayed quiet for a while. your eyes wandered everywhere, to his eyes to his subtle frown to his outfit while scaramouche didn't dare to look away from your eyes. they had a sense of longing he never knew they could have. did he have the same look? a look of longing? longing for someone who'd be with him forever?

did he have a look of yearning? yearning for someone who'd stay and love him, like all those who promised so distantly in the past? would you stay with him if he asked? would you promise to keep your promises to him, to allow him to trust you as you do him?

so many questions and so little answers, lesser time now as he thinks all these overwhelming thoughts.

"scara?" you call out.

scaramouche didn't dare speak louder than a whisper. "yeah?"

you said you liked him.

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runningfrom2am · 1 year ago

Text

leveling the playing field

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.5k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows. anyway no warnings for you guys today besides maybe this is boring lol

masterlists // nav // requests

join my taglist here

a/n: young coryo has me in a death grip rn guys this could be a problem-

next part

Fists clenched at your sides, you storm up to the front of the hall, staring intently at the Dean. You knew your odds were better pleading with Dr. Gaul, but that was a task far from your mind. "Miss Y/L/N, I don't have time for your petty complaints at the moment." He dismisses you before you even reach an appropriate distance to start your discussion.

"I was waiting for this." Festus chuckles, commenting on how none of the chosen mentors had a chance to process anything or even speak before you were stomping down the centre aisle, between all their seats, and up towards the podium where Dean Highbottom now stood.

Coriolanus found his gaze following you, despite his better judgment telling him to focus on the subject- scratch that, problem, at hand: his assignment of the mentorship of Lucy Gray Baird. She was fiery, that's for sure, and upon first impressions, she reminded him of you.

"You think I couldn't handle it, is that it?" You almost shout, discarding all formality in favour of getting answers.

"You knew the qualifications, Miss Y/L/N." The Dean sighs.

"I got one B over a year ago! God, hold a grudge much? You're miserable!" People are staring now, noticeably, but you don't care. You're used to getting what you want, and the one time you don't, it comes back to bite you in the ass over a year later.

"Then you should have done better. Drop this or I'll demerit you." He states in response, clearly hardly caring. You huff, face red as you storm off again, making a point of slamming the door open so hard it hits the wall with a bang.

Coriolanus never understood fully why the Dean let you parade around with this attitude directed at him, but never so much as lifted a finger to punish you. If he had made a scene like that, he would have been expelled on the spot. "I should go after her." He turns to look at Sejanus as he's getting up, quickly gathering himself to follow after you. He had little interest in staying anyway.

"I'll go." Coriolanus stands, placing his hand on Sejanus' chest to stop him. "You stay. I'll sort her out."

"Coriolanus Snow, off to sedate his girlfriend again." Arachne teases as he walks off, leaving Sejanus to defend his name in his stead. He'd much prefer talking you down to uselessly explaining to the other kids in your class that the two of you were nothing more than friends. It was a wasteful endeavour. You were just the only one who's presence he could stand in a social capacity.

You made it outside, pacing the large front steps of the academy, fighting the urge to rip off your skirt and burn it right there. Along with the rest of the building.

"Y/N." You pause when you hear the door close behind someone, looking up to see your friend.

"Coryo." You reply, continuing with your fruitless crusade at this point.

"What happened to not caring about the prize?" He asks, stepping down so he's level with you on the staircase, getting in your path so you can no longer pace.

"I don't care about the prize." You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's not about that."

"I doubt that." Coriolanus raises an eyebrow at you. You had told him at length you didn't care about the prize when you found out you weren't even in the running, because your parents could pay your tuition anyway. He envied your privilege, but he had never envied you.

"No, it's not." You insist. "I got one less than stellar grade one time and now I'm missing out on this opportunity- effectively throwing away any shot I have at Gamemaker."

"That's dramatic." Your friend replies. "I think you're better off than me."

You scoff. "Oh, boo hoo, Coriolanus Snow. I'd take Lucy Gray in a second."

"Just because she can cause a scene doesn't mean she'll last a minute in the games." He replies.

"Duh, it's not about winning. It's about the experience, it's about-"

"Being on TV?" He asks, and despite his serious expression you know it's a joke.

"Even you know I'm not that shallow. I'm not Arachne." You can't help but smile. He does too, for just a second. "And frankly, I'm offended at the insinuation."

"Then enlighten me, Y/N Y/L/N." Coriolanus prompts, and suddenly your demeanor changes in a way he would deem hardly noticeable if he hadn't known you for years.

You sigh, dropping your tense shoulders. "My father will be up in arms when he finds out." You answer, voice in a whisper despite being alone out here. "I'm an embarrassment to my family name."

"That's impossible." He shakes his head quickly. "You're their pride and joy. A gem of the Capitol."

"Ah, but for how long?" You reply, poking his chest. "Until the oldest Y/L/N child doesn't get a mentorship? Until my brother does in three years and I am an irrelevant face in the University halls and he is winning the Plinth prize?" The small smile on your face fades as you look down, thinking over the consequences for the first time.

"Perhaps, but one day that will come back to bite anyone who doubted you when you're the new head Gamemaker. I'll be sure of it." He nods, and your smile returns.

"Coriolanus Snow, future President of Panem, I salute you." You giggle, raising your hand in a salute. You had heard his cousin say that to him once, two or three years ago by now, and you were not prepared to let it go. You can tell it was something he believed, despite the misshapen buttons on his dress shirt and the weight he'd steadily lost over all the years you'd known him. Who were you to deny him his ambitions? Everyone else was fooled, so you would act as though you were as well. The same way he had habitually ignored the bruises on your arms and under your makeup the day after you brought home that B grade last year.

He just nods in response, jokingly tugging at his vest in pride.

"I hate to tell you that I will have to decline your generous offer." You say, and he looks confused. "I don't need your charity. I'll make it so you'd be a fool not to hire me, Mister President."

You sit down on the stairs, looking out at the city. He joins you a moment later, dusting off the ground beneath him before letting his clothes touch the surface.

"So, how are you feeling?" You ask, sick now of talking about yourself.

"Honestly, not great." Coriolanus answers. "She'll be first down, and I'll be out. We're about at odds with each other, I have no shot at the prize now."

"I don't know, Coryo." You smile a little, bumping his shoulder with your own as you try to reassure him. "Lucy Gray has a or two fight in her. I can tell."

"She reminds me of you, a little bit."

"Is that a bad thing?" You chuckle.

"No." He shakes his head. "You never back down from a fight. Even if you should."

You laugh, turning a little to hide the burning in your cheeks. "I suppose I could see the resemblance. I'm no stranger to telling someone to kiss my ass."

"That's true." He nods, smiling but not quite laughing. You're not sure you could remember seeing him laugh, not since Felix fell down the stairs in the lecture hall a few years ago and screamed like a girl. "Maybe you could help me."

"Help you? How?" You ask, brow furrowed as you look over at him. Whatever it is you'll agree. He knows too much about you for you to deny him anyway, and it's not like you really had anything to lose. If you couldn't have the Plinth prize, you'd want it to go to Coriolanus.

"With Lucy Gray. I don't even know where to start, what to think, what to do." He explains.

"Well..." You think about it for a second. "If you want her to listen to you in any capacity, she'll have to trust you. So be nice. And maybe convince her to sing again. People were talking, that's what you want. It's the best you can do."

He nods, sitting up straighter. "Thank you, Y/N. I have to go." Before you can respond, he's gone back into the building behind you. You sigh, calmer now, despite dreading the prospective task of having to go home and face your father.

"Mister Snow, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dr. Gaul asks, readjusting her gloves without looking up at the boy as she throws what he assumes to be some kind of food into a blacked-out tank in front of him.

"I'd like Y/N Y/L/N to be my partner in the mentorship," Coriolanus states, making her pause.

"Why?" She asks simply, resuming her task.

"I believe she would be an asset for Lucy Gray."

"They do have a similar... spark. Don't they?" Dr. Gaul nods a little bit to herself. "But what makes you think that this wouldn't be an unfair advantage?"

"It wouldn't be an advantage. More like an experiment." He answers, effectively piquing the doctor's interest. "We can observe the benefits and faults of two mentors versus one, moving into the next games, and the effect of choosing based on compatibility, rather than random, careless selection."

Dr. Gaul hums, wiping off her leather gloves with a cloth as she thinks it over. "And this would have nothing to do with your relationship and sympathies towards Miss Y/L/N, correct?"

"No." He shakes his head. "Miss Y/L/N certainly doesn't get any sympathy from me." It's not a lie, at least he doesn't perceive it to be. You would be an asset to his cause, to his deliverance of the prize, and likely the most pleasant person to work with, ironically.

"I will think about it." Dr. Gaul states. "But the prize will not be awarded to her in any capacity, you must understand."

Maybe he does feel bad for you. He's entitled to that prize, no doubt, but it's hard to picture a world where you wouldn't be the runner-up; even if that is his reality. "I understand." He nods, before turning to leave.

"Oh, and Mister Snow." Dr. Gaul draws his attention once more, causing him to stop and look back at her. "Don't let her charm you."

"Y/N!" You look up from your textbook toward the door, knowing your brother will be opening it any second after he calls you. Surely enough, he does. "Coriolanus Snow is here. He wants to speak with you."

"Can you show him up to the library?" You ask, quickly wiping your reddened eyes.

"He's there with dad already." Your brother tells you and you sniff, nodding a little bit. "Thank you. Tell them I'll be right there."

You quickly throw on a sweater, double-checking in the mirror that you don't look like you were just crying before leaving. Besides a little bit of redness around your eyes and blotchiness on your chest covered by the sweater, you should be okay.

"Well, thank you for extending your influence on my daughter's behalf. I owe you a great deal." You hear your dad speaking from down the hall as you get closer. "Though, I wouldn't fault you if you changed your mind. I understand she will be a burden on you."

"No, sir. It would be an honour to work with her." You hear Coryo say as you step into the door frame.

You knock gently on the open door, alerting them both of your presence. "Y/N." Your father says, nodding toward your friend. "Coriolanus has pulled some strings to try and help you maintain what's left of your reputation."

You sniff and nod, looking over at Coryo as he stands across from your dad in your library, posture perfect like a soldier standing at attention. His professionalism will always impress you, it never falters in the presence of others. "Thank you." You make an effort to smile at him, which he politely and uncomfortably returns. "Could you give us a moment?" You request, returning your attention to your dad.

He nods and shakes Coryo's hand before bumping into you as he exits the room, pausing before leaning down to whisper to you.

Coriolanus watches, your eyes widening for just a moment while your dad speaks to you and then you nod, thanking him quietly before he leaves. You stand there awkwardly staring at each other for a second while you listen to his footsteps descend the stairs, and then hear the door to his study close. As soon as it does, you're quickly walking up to your friend and throwing your arms around his waist, your head leaning into his chest.

He freezes for a second before hugging you back. "Thank you, Coryo." You whisper. "I won't let you down."

"Are you okay?" He asks, resisting the urge to just rest his chin on the top of your head and pull you closer. It's been ages since he's been hugged like this, and though it's meant more as a comfort to you, it's consolatory to him as well.

You nod, snapping out of it and quickly pulling away, taking a respectful step back. "Yeah, yes. Sorry." You clear your throat, quickly readjusting your sweater.

"Don't be." He shakes his head quickly, brows still furrowed as he looks you over. He doesn't know what you came home to, but he has a strong theory as to what the cause of your tear-stained cheeks could be, and it certainly wasn't an empty fridge like his.

You stare at each other for another moment before you look away. "Uh, so, you spoke to the Dean?"

"No, he despises me." He answers. "Dr. Gaul was more sympathetic to the cause."

"Dr. Gaul and 'sympathetic' have never been used in the same sentence before." You tease.

"Well, she likes us for some reason."

"Thank god." You chuckle, slightly shaking your head.

"But... seriously, are you okay?" He asks again, this time blatantly looking you over. While embarrassing, it does feel nice to see that someone cares, that someone noticed. The remnants of pity behind his eyes makes you almost ill.

"Fine." You nod in confirmation. "Would you like something to eat?" You offer, leveling the playing field.

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g-n-c-quoi · 4 months ago

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i feel like the idea of “treatment” when it comes to being disabled is a very complex and nuanced concept and the way able bodied society as a whole but doctors especially approach it fails to address most of those nuances and in doing so fundamentally fails to meet the needs of disabled people. which, of course, is nothing new really, but i think a lot about this particular aspect of it and how deeply detrimental it can be

anecdotally, a lot of my personal experiences with doctors involved them prescribing me treatments that were, at best, completely asinine, and at worst, actively harmful to my health, and then treating it as a personal moral fault of mine that i wasn’t enthusiastically pursuing them

for example, i insisted repeatedly to my parents and providers alike that physical therapy for my EDS was proving not only agonizing in the short term but appearing to have little if any benefit in the long term, and was repeatedly brushed off because i “just wasn’t doing it consistently enough” and it was insisted to me on multiple occasions that this was the only way for me to feel better, while at the same time i was being denied access to mobility aids because they didn’t want me to become “dependent”

a lot has changed since then and as i’m learning more about my body and how to take care of it it baffles me how much more pain i was in on a daily basis and how little anyone around me was willing or able to help

and, like, i know none of this was a result of outright malice. i am lucky enough to have had most of my doctors be, at the very least, genuinely intending to try to help me. where the shortcomings were was in the response to me not engaging with a form of treatment that was proving to do more harm than good.

i think this happens for two reasons, the first being one we know already, which is that people in general- doctors in this case, but people as a whole- do not like being wrong. when what they have learned to be immutable fact proves to have exceptions, the way every rule does, they cannot comprehend it. some even take personal offense. it’s like, “i know your body better than you because i went to school for it and you didn’t”. a lot of disabled people are deeply familiar with this one, because it’s deeply pervasive in the medical field especially.

the other reason is that people cannot comprehend the idea of refusing something that is intended to make you feel better. when i went off my meds, when i would refuse over the counter painkillers, when i would flake out of therapy of either the physical or mental variety, i was met with shock and outrage because “i wasn’t trying to get better”, never mind my repeated assertions that these things were not helping me get better in the first place. no one could imagine i would opt out of something that was done to improve my symptoms for any reason other than teenage petulance, and so all of my concerns and complaints were dismissed as just that.

and, of course, now that i’ve found things that do help me- occasional mobility aid usage, medicinal use of cannabis, etc- it’s dismissed by all the same people as risky and not worth it. the same concerns i had about the treatments i was receiving.

another issue is the fact that once the one default Thing for your condition doesn’t work or you don’t want it they basically treat you like you’re out of options and are just doomed to feel like this forever. for me it was physical therapy, and in another case the stimulants i was prescribed when i was first diagnosed with adhd that they took me off of and then never tried anything else until like four years later

the whole thing is set up to make disabled people as reliant on doctors as possible for things that may not even be the best option for them

#cripple punk #disabled #disability #physical disability #heds #pots #potsie #pots syndrome #amps #chronic pain #chronic illness

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mmso-notlikethat · 10 days ago

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Ode to My Broken Wrench

yay finally finished my EddieChimTommy bonding fic, it's just some fix-it for their friendship that I needed so much. I might had too much fun writing this

Gen Ι WC 3,732

on ao3 or below <3

Tommy hears the knock at his door and opens it to find Chimney standing there, a six-pack of beer in his hand and his signature grin plastered across his face.

Tommy leans against the doorframe with a sigh. "What is it, Howie?"

Chimney lifts the six-pack as if it’s a winning lottery ticket. "Oh, come on, I’ve been calling you. You don’t have plans, right? I brought this, and I wanna watch that movie you’re always raving about."

Tommy crosses his arms, looking unimpressed. "Howie... Look, I’m not in the mood for any lectures or talks. Can we just drop this so I can go back to spending my off day clearing out the garage?"

Chimney widens his eyes in mock offense. "Who said anything about a lecture? Dude, what would I even lecture you about?"

Tommy tilts his head, scoffing. "Really? You want me to believe this is just about beer and a movie?"

Before Chimney can respond, the sound of a truck pulling into the driveway catches their attention. Tommy groans as Eddie steps out, holding a pizza box.

Tommy throws up his hands. "Great. You invited Eddie, too?"

Chimney grins even wider. "I did not. But hey, the more, the merrier." He nudges Tommy aside and steps into the house like he owns the place.

Tommy spins around, incredulous. "Really, Howie?!"

Chimney waves a hand dismissively, already making himself comfortable in the living room. "Relax, dude. You’ve got comfy couches, a big TV, and beer. What’s there to complain about?"

Eddie, reaching the door, takes in the scene with an amused look. "Trouble in paradise?"

Tommy glares at him. "You just happened to swing by? With pizza?"

Eddie shrugs, holding up the box. "Finished some errands and figured you’d be home. Thought you might want company—or at least wouldn’t turn down free food."

Chimney’s voice floats over from the living room. "See? It’s fate. Now shut the door, grab some plates, and let’s get this party started."

Tommy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You two are annoying."

Eddie smirks, stepping past him and into the house. "And yet, here we are."

Tommy shuts the door, but his hesitation lingers as he watches them settle in like this is their space. He doesn’t sit, standing stiffly by the arm of the couch instead.

"Seriously, what are you guys doing here?" His tone isn’t angry, but it’s far from relaxed.

Chimney, already popping the tab on a beer, looks up with an easy smile. "Having a beer, watching a movie, and hanging out with our buddy. What else would we be doing?"

Eddie glances over, his expression more measured. "Yeah, Tommy. What else?"

Tommy doesn’t answer right away, the weight of their presence pulling at him in ways he’s not ready to confront. He nods toward the pizza box instead. "You’d better clean up after yourselves."

The movie flickered across the screen, its dramatic soundtrack filling the living room. Chimney was sprawled on the couch, one hand holding a beer and the other occasionally pointing at the screen to punctuate his running commentary.

“Okay, but why would they go in there? Like, have they not seen a single horror movie in their lives?!” Chimney exclaimed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Classic rookie mistake.”

Eddie sighed heavily from the armchair, his legs stretched out, pizza box balanced on one knee. “This is why I don’t watch movies. People doing dumb stuff for no reason. Can we do something else? Spar? Shoot some hoops? Literally anything?”

Tommy, sitting on the edge of the couch, barely registered Eddie’s complaint. He was leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, his hands loosely clasped. His eyes were on the TV, but he wasn’t really watching. His fingers tapped absently against each other, and he shifted in his seat every so often, like he couldn’t quite get comfortable.

Chimney turned to Eddie with a grin. “What’s wrong, Ed? Can’t handle sitting still for two hours? That explains why you always lose at poker. No patience.”

“Poker has strategy,” Eddie countered, his voice flat. “This is just...waiting for the inevitable.”

Chimney rolled his eyes. “It’s called suspense. Builds character.”

Eddie snorted. “You should’ve told me we were watching a character-building exercise.”

Chimney was about to retort when his gaze flicked to Tommy, who hadn’t said a word since they’d pressed play. His expression softened for a brief moment before he leaned back into his usual tone.

“Hey, Tommy, back me up here. Tell Mr. No Fun that this is a cinematic masterpiece.”

Tommy blinked, pulled from his thoughts. “Huh?”

“The movie!” Chimney said, gesturing dramatically at the screen. “Defend its honor!”

Tommy glanced at the TV, the scene a blur in his mind. “Uh...yeah. Sure.”

Chimney frowned slightly but didn’t push. Instead, he nudged Eddie’s arm with his foot. “See? Tommy gets it. Unlike you, traitor.”

Eddie smirked faintly but didn’t respond, his eyes drifting to Tommy for a beat. “Hey, you okay over there? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Tommy straightened slightly, his fingers curling into fists briefly before he forced them to relax. “I’m fine. Just...watching.”

Eddie didn’t look convinced, but Chimney cut in before the silence could stretch. “That’s the spirit. Focus on the brilliance of this movie instead of complaining, Eddie.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but didn’t push further, settling back into his seat. Tommy shifted again, his gaze flicking between the screen and his friends. He knew they were trying, in their own ways, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were here for a reason they weren’t saying out loud.

And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t ready to hear it.

Tommy suddenly grabbed the remote and hit pause, freezing the movie mid-scene.

Chimney groaned dramatically, tossing his head back. “Tommy, whyyy? We were just getting to the best part! This is where the hero pulls off the impossible stunt. Come on, man!”

Eddie didn’t react as loudly. He just glanced at Tommy with a raised eyebrow, already sensing something was coming.

Tommy stood, letting the remote drop onto the coffee table as he began pacing. His hands went to his hips, then ran through his hair, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “Okay, I can’t do this. I can’t just sit here and pretend like everything’s normal.”

Eddie and Chimney exchanged glances but stayed quiet as Tommy continued, his voice rising slightly with frustration.

“I broke up with Ev—Buck. You both are his family, and what? Now we’re just buddies? Really? You don’t think that’s...weird?”

Eddie opened his mouth, but Chimney beat him to it, throwing his hands up. “Really? This is why you stopped the movie? To drop some existential crisis bomb? I knew you were stupid, Kinard, but come on! This is amateur-level stupid. And I’ve known you for, what, 20 years? You think I’m hanging out here for the popcorn?”

Tommy stopped pacing, turning toward Chimney with an incredulous look. And with a scoff “Please, Howie. How many times did we actually hang out this much before I started dating Buck? Don’t you see what I’m saying?”

Chimney opened his mouth to retort, but Eddie leaned forward, cutting in with a sharp tone. “First, stop calling him Buck.” He made a face as if the name itself tasted bad. “It feels weird. Stick to Evan, for God’s sake.”

Tommy blinked at him. “What does that have to do with—”

“And we’re going back to this because what the hell, you idiot,” Eddie interrupted, his voice hard. “Breaking up with him? Really? What were you even thinking?” He continued with a glare “You think cutting us off for the past two months was the smart move? Ignoring calls, dodging texts, what was that? Some genius post-breakup plan?”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably, looking at the floor. “It wasn’t like that…”

Eddie wasn’t letting up. “Oh no? Then what was it like? Because from where I’m sitting, it sure seems like you were ready to throw this—us—out along with the relationship. And for what?”

Tommy hesitated, his jaw tightening. “You’re Buck’s family—”

“Evan,” Eddie corrected with a glare.

Tommy huffed. “Fine. Evan’s family. It felt...weird.” He hesitated before adding, his tone sharper, “And it wasn’t just me. You didn’t exactly come banging on my door either. I wasn’t the only one who stayed quiet.”

Eddie opened his mouth to reply but faltered, glancing at Chimney, who scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Fair,” Chimney admitted, raising a hand. “We kind of dropped the ball there. But we’re here now, aren’t we?”

Tommy stopped pacing and crossed his arms, his gaze hardening as he looked at both of them. “Yeah, now. After two months. You think it’s that easy to just...trust that? You’re here now, sure, but for a while, it felt like you didn’t care either.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but Tommy held up a hand, his voice sharper now. “I’m not saying you don’t care. I know you do. But when you go quiet for that long...it’s hard not to feel like maybe I was right to cut you off.”

He paused, running a hand through his hair as his voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t just lose Evan. I also lost my friends that day, and that—” His tone grew more frustrated and angry as he struggled to get the words out. “That... that actually hurt, okay? It hurt more than I want to admit.”

“Tommy—” Chimney started, his tone softer, but Tommy cut him off, shaking his head.

“You probably should’ve come earlier. I’ve been having full-blown conversations with my tools in the garage. The wrench? Total pessimist. Hammer? Thinks I’m beyond saving.” He let out a humorless laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “Guess I’m on my own repair list now.”

Eddie leaned back, smirking, his tone shifting to something lighter. “Careful, Tommy. Keep this up, and we might actually start thinking you have feelings.”

Chimney, still holding his beer, gave Tommy a softer look. “We’re sorry, Tommy. For not calling sooner. That was on us.”

Eddie nodded, his smirk fading briefly. “Yeah. You didn’t deserve that.”

The silence lingered for a beat, heavy but not uncomfortable.

Tommy shrugged, forcing a faint smile. “Guess you’re making up for it now with free therapy.”

Chimney grinned, the teasing slipping back into his tone. “Next thing you know, you’ll be writing poetry in the garage. ‘Ode to My Broken Wrench.’”

Tommy rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath waiting for an invite to the recital.”

Chimney leaned back with a grin. “Speaking of tools, for someone who loves fixing things, you sure suck at fixing friendships.”

Tommy glared at him. “Wow, thanks, Howie. That’s super helpful.”

Chimney shrugged, his grin cheeky. “Hey, I call it like I see it. You’ve been rebuilding this house piece by piece for what? Two years? And don’t even get me started on your garage. You’ll spend hours under a car, but then, when it’s about picking up the phone? Crickets. What, were you afraid we’d say, ‘Hey, we still like you’?”

Eddie snorted, folding his arms. “He’s not wrong. You can rebuild a carburetor but can’t handle a text?”

Chimney leaned back with a smirk. “See? I’m just saying, maybe your emotional toolbox is missing a wrench or two. And apparently, relationships are above your pay grade.”

Tommy’s lips twitched as if he wanted to be annoyed but couldn’t quite pull it off. “Maybe I just don’t like interruptions while I’m trying to work.”

“Please,” Chimney scoffed, waving a hand. “I know you’ve been talking to the water heater like it’s your new best friend.”

Chimney sighed, sitting up straighter. “Look, I get it. We didn’t call you those first couple of weeks, and yeah, that’s on us.”

Eddie nodded, his expression serious. “We messed up, okay? We thought you might need space or...hell, we didn’t know what to do. It’s not like there’s a manual for this.”

Chimney gestured between himself and Eddie. “We’re idiots. But even idiots figure things out eventually, and that’s why we’re here now. To make sure you don’t do something even dumber, like cut us out of your life.”

Tommy scoffed, his tone dipping into something darker. “Oh, right, because abandoning me for weeks while I was spiraling was definitely the smart move. Guess it’s my fault for thinking I rated higher than a missed call.”

Chimney winced. “Ouch. Fat head, you’re gonna guilt us to death before this movie ends.”

Tommy ignored him, back to pacing. “You’re Buck’s—Evan’s—family. I’m the guy who...” He paused, glancing at the floor before adding with a bitter chuckle, “Well, let’s just say I wasn’t exactly the best decision maker here.”

“Tommy,” Eddie said, leaning forward, his tone softening but still firm. “I introduced you to Christopher. You met him before you started dating Buck. You think I just do that for anyone?”

Tommy stopped mid-step, his head snapping up to look at Eddie.

“And you know we hung out before, too,” Eddie added, crossing his arms. “Like that should even matter. But apparently, it does to you. You think a breakup changes who we are to you? Because it doesn’t.”

Chimney jumped back in, pointing a finger at Tommy. “Yeah, what he said. And another thing—this is not because of Evan, Buck, or whatever the hell we’re calling him right now. We’re here because of you, idiot. You think I’ve been dragging my butt to your house all this time for romance updates? Please. I don’t care about your disastrous love life; I care about you. Always have. Always will.”

Tommy’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked between them, his defenses crumbling under their combined words.

Eddie leaned back with a smirk. “And don’t forget—I still need you to check my car. And that Muay Thai setup in your garage? You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Chimney raised a hand. “Also, I’m not going to let you disappear because I’m gonna need you to be my backup when I inevitably prank Eddie and he tries to kill me. I’ve got long-term plans, Kinard.”

Tommy let out a small, reluctant laugh despite himself, shaking his head.

Eddie softened his tone further, leaning forward. “Look, man, I get it. You’re hurt, and you’re trying to figure out what happens next. But don’t throw away the people who’ve been here for you just because you’re afraid things will change. You’re not just Buck’s ex. You’re Tommy. And we’ve got your back, whether you want it or not.”

Chimney nodded, raising his beer. “What he said. But also, don’t stop the movie next time. This heartfelt stuff? Cool. But I was really invested in that explosion scene.” He grinned, adding, “And you’re paying for pizza next time. Emotional outbursts aren’t free.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but Tommy let out a breathy laugh despite himself, shaking his head. He sank back onto the couch, finally meeting their gazes.

“I’m not good at this,” Tommy admitted quietly.

“No kidding,” Eddie deadpanned, but his expression softened. “Good thing you’ve got us to help you figure it out.”

Chimney clinked his beer against Eddie’s. He looked at Tommy with a mock-serious expression. “But for real, you still owe me for that time I saved your life.”

Tommy groaned, covering his face with his hands. “You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Chimney said cheerfully.

The three of them settled back into a more comfortable silence. The movie resumed, but Tommy found himself less focused on the screen and more on the feeling that, maybe, he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

The movie ended with a loud explosion, followed by the dramatic swell of music as the credits rolled. Chimney stretched, letting out a satisfied sigh. “That was good. Totally worth staying up for.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You stayed up? You’ve been snoring through the last fifteen minutes.”

Chimney shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah, but I woke up in time for the big finish. Anyway, I should get going. Maddie’s going to kill me if I’m late picking up Jee.”

Eddie smirked. “If Maddie hasn’t killed you yet, you’re probably fine.”

“Don’t tempt fate, Diaz,” Chimney shot back, pulling on his jacket. He turned to Tommy and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t think too much, fat head. It’s bad for you. And Eddie, don’t let him overanalyze everything once I’m gone.”

“Not making any promises,” Eddie replied, smirking.

Chimney waved as he headed to the door. “Alright, have fun with the heart-to-heart. Don’t cry too much, boys.”

Tommy rolled his eyes as the door clicked shut behind Chimney. “He never changes.”

“You’ve been friends for two decades. You must’ve figured that out by now,” Eddie said, leaning back in the couch.

Tommy disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with two beers, handing one to Eddie before settling into his seat. “Figured it out? I gave up years ago.”

They drank in companionable silence for a while, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional sound of Tommy fidgeting with his bottle cap. Finally, Eddie broke the stillness.

“I’m moving to Texas.”

Tommy froze mid-sip, lowering his bottle slowly. “Texas? You’re leaving?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.”

Tommy stared at him, his brow furrowing. “Chris isn’t coming back, is he?”

Eddie sighed, his expression becoming unreadable as he stared into his beer. “I don’t know. I don’t want to push him. But I’m so done with missing his life. I can’t do it anymore.”

Tommy leaned back, letting out a breath as he processed Eddie’s words. “So much for those long-term plans you were just talking about earlier.”

Eddie shot him a mock glare, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Hey, I can still have long-term plans. They’re just...geographically flexible.”

Tommy chuckled, lifting his beer. “Fair enough.”

For a while, they sat in silence again, the weight of the conversation hanging between them. Eddie tapped his fingers lightly against the neck of his bottle, a habit Tommy recognized as him thinking something over.

Eventually, Tommy broke the quiet. “Did you talk to him before deciding to move?”

Eddie blinked, his head tilting slightly. “Chris?”

Tommy nodded, his voice even. “Dude, talk to your boy.”

Eddie let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve asked him how he feels about Texas. He doesn’t hate it, but…” Eddie trailed off again, this time with more hesitation.

“The last time I talked to him, I told him I’d get him an autograph from that actor he likes. Said he could hang it in his room, and he goes, ‘Oh cool, you’ll send it to me.’” Eddie’s voice softened as he repeated the words, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “He meant his room in Texas. At my parents house. And it just...it hit me. He doesn’t think of here as home anymore. I’m not his home anymore.”

Tommy tilted his head. “But you haven’t actually asked him if he wants to stay, have you?”

Eddie looked away, his silence answering the question.

Tommy nodded knowingly, taking a slow sip from his beer. “Dude, talk to your boy. He’s old enough to know what he wants—or at least to tell you what he’s feeling. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be.”

Eddie stared at the floor for a moment, swirling his beer absentmindedly. Then, after a long pause, he lifted his gaze to Tommy. “Maybe you should take that advice and talk to your boy.”

Tommy frowned, his brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “I mean Buck.”

Tommy sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “He’s not my boy, Eddie.”

Eddie’s voice was calm but firm. “You sure about that?”

Tommy opened his mouth to respond but stopped, his words catching in his throat. Finally, he snorted softly, trying to shift the mood. “Last time I talked to him, we didn’t exactly leave it on a ‘let’s grab coffee’ note. Pretty sure he’d rather punch me than talk to me.”

Tommy glanced at Eddie, expecting a smirk or maybe a chuckle, but Eddie’s gaze was steady, unwavering. It wasn’t judgmental, just...patient.

The corner of Tommy’s mouth twitched, but the humor faded quickly under Eddie’s silent persistence.

Eddie finally spoke, his tone calm. “Maybe. But you won’t know unless you try.”

Tommy sighed heavily, his smirk faltering. He stared at the label on his beer bottle, peeling at the edge with his thumb as if it would give him an answer.

Eddie leaned back slightly, still watching him. “You don’t get it, do you? Buck’s not over you, Tommy. He’s trying to be, but he’s not.”

Tommy finally looked up, his expression conflicted. “And what if I’m not over him either? What’s that supposed to change?”

Eddie’s gaze softened. “It means you stop being scared of messing up and actually try. You’re not perfect—none of us are—but Buck doesn’t want perfect. He wants you.”

Tommy blinked, visibly caught off guard. “You sound so sure.”

Eddie gave a small shrug, offering a faint, self-deprecating laugh. “Alright, maybe I’m not. I don’t know every detail of what happened between you two, and honestly, I don’t need to. That’s between you guys. But from where I’m sitting...yeah, that’s what it looks like to me.”

Tommy’s jaw tensed, his thumb still picking at the label on his bottle, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

Eddie continued, his tone certain now. “Look, man, I get it. This stuff’s messy. But you’re not going to figure it out by sitting here and pretending like it’s over when it’s not. Talk to him. That’s all I’m saying.”

Tommy exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, maybe.”

Eddie leaned back, taking a long drink from his beer. The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time.

“Texas, huh?” Tommy said finally, his tone lighter, almost teasing.

Eddie smirked, catching the shift. “Yeah. You want to help me pack?”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I actually like you, Diaz.”

#tommy kinard #eddie diaz #chimney han #platonic eddietommy #platonic chimneytommy #bucktommy #<- mentioned. also target audience #*

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unkat · 9 months ago

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chilaios medical au idea i have been bouncing in my head (will not be written until after my current one is done)

i am thinking of a like firefighter/paramedic story for these guys. where laios is a new shift commander/chief at a small middle of nowhere station and chilchuck is a medic from a big city who keeps getting reassigned because he is trying to recruit for a union and the company is trying to make his job unworkable/find a reason to let him go.

laios was promoted because of his work ethic and ability to teach other people about the ins and outs of emergency medicine, not because he wanted to be in charge. he is too new and disinterested in the company politics to throw him under the bus for other people, and by the time someone explicitly says he needs to fire him, he has gotten attached.

"he's reliable, does good work, and catches things nobody else here would have. i know he cussed out the family trying to get into the rig, but he had already told them no and they should be grateful he saved their daughter instead of filing a complaint! even if i were to discipline, he deserves a verbal warning and not dismissal. You were not there, and i am his direct superior."

(wins the argument and walks away trying not to hyperventilate)

also falin is a surgeon and marcille is a research fellow who abandoned her big-city super-focused projects to come out into the country and work with subpar equipment and an incompetent assistant. im not thinking like full rural hospital here, but closeish to it. could be an academic satellite hospital and she switched from like gene therapy trials to studying exposures/population/histology stuff.

shifting the touden hyperfixation from monsters->medical fascination i think would still get across the same vibes. falin is very nice and pleasant but she treats everyone nicely and pleasantly without actually empathizing with them. shes one of those surgeons who went to shadow a heart transplant in college and cried because it was so beautiful and then got a bunch of scholarships plus student loans for med school.

laios hunts and has a big appreciation for the lives of things he kills and butchering/using everything he can. then it translates to him being fascinated by the human body as an object more than as a being that is different and special from other animals that he is a part of. he is a fantastic emergency responder because of this- people are a pile of flesh that is broken somewhere, and he wants to figure out why. (this is something that I'm like. not sure if it is okay for me to include because it can be squicky/triggering. but i feel like when I'm unsure if I'm going too far that is when i am reaching the line i want to?)

the touden siblings still go hiking and mudding and spend their time off in the woods (marcille wears white shorts and sandels on a hike leaving laios to be very explicit and offering clothes to chilchuck when he offers him to join. chilchuck borrows his shirt and it is way too big, but he keeps it for a while.)

chilchuck is extra divorced. he facetimes with the girls a couple of times a week and gets them on rotating holidays. sometimes ex-mrs. tims invites him over for dinner because she feels sorry for him and her new boyfriend is also there. it's awkward but they both know he's harmless, just annoying and closed off. he smokes but has tried to quit 7-8 times. started when he was an emt and couldn't shake it because it helped him destress. he only knows how to drive well enough to pass his vehicle license renewals and still doesn't know what the buttons in his car do. the ac has been "broken" for a week before a station mechanic pushes the button to turn it back on (they should put a subway around here, stupid cars).

laios respects his experience and history of being at a constantly busy station that saw a variety of crazy shit. chilchuck initially resents him for being so out of touch, but grows to respect his leadership abilities. laios also always follows up on cases at the hospital to figure out the outcome and reflect on best practices.

he is the first person to get chilchuck to actually debrief after a shitty call and chil cries and never wants to talk about it again. but its like a seal in a dam has been breached, and opens up when they are cuddling on the couch. they spend more time off shift with each other. chilchuck crashes on laios' couch and initially feels like he needs excuses to do it until laios says he really likes talking with him and having him there. he tells him about the company's EAP coverage and that he encourages everyone to take advantage of it.

in the end, they hit that threshold of basically living together, and one of them would need to change their station (superior/employee romance) after they go from making out off shift in secret to seriously considering having laios meet his daughters in person. (they already think they're married because laios is always there when they call now)

#unkat rants #i cant stand them #chilaios #dungeon meshi filter #...i updated the tag for folks who saw this directly already #sorry for the confusion

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hellfirecvnt · 7 months ago

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Subordinate (Part 1)

Summary: North Jackson has a new principal and your coworkers are not coping well. XOXO.

Warnings: Dastardly bisexual man in a loud suit getting absolutely babygirled. JK. This chapter has cheating, but it's not Y/N cheating on anyone and it's not Lee cheating on anyone. It's angsty. This is an angsty series, but it'll also be a little silly and super sexy.

Notes: Bitch, you already know what the fuck it is. Also, I usually try to work around the cheating bc I've seen a few people find it icky and I respect that, however me? I love a lil fake affair. Being chosen over his own wife? Absolutely. Do I have low self-esteem?... Anyways...

Bright and early Monday morning, Neal Gamby and Lee Russell are called to a meeting determining the new principal of North Jackson High School. The two men fire jabs back and forth at each other, cutting each other down and insisting they are the newly appointed principal.

"Thank you for joining us, gentlemen." Super Intendant Haas extends a hand to each of them, greeting them and welcoming them to the unoccupied principal's office for the meeting. "As you know, North Jackson High needs a principal." Haas's words kept both men at the edge of their seats, dying to know which of them was more qualified.

"Sir, it's been-" Gamby, prematurely starting an acceptance speech is promptly cut off.

"Mr. Gamby, Mr. Russell, this is Dr. Y/L/N." Super Intendant Haas introduces you as you round the corner to meet your two new underlings.

"A pleasure to meet you both!" You chime, shaking their hands, noticing the shock in their stunned faces. You're much younger than the usual principal select, and much younger than either of them.

"The Hell's the matter with you two?" Haas asks, sharply.

"Don't worry sir, I tend to have this effect on men. I leave 'em speechless." You wink. One certain glance grants them the knowledge that you already know what you're up against. What you don't know, is that each man is stunned silent for a different reason.

Gamby is blindsided by the results after being far too certain that the title was his. After all, he did tell his whole family he was the principal. Lee is just mesmerized. Neal excuses himself to have a nauseous panic attack in the restrooms while Lee and Haas show you around the school. As you reach each wing of the large building, Mr. Russell excitedly drones on about the history and lifestyle of the average North Jackson staff and students.

Lee's charming, if not just a bit of a try-hard, but you can appreciate that.

"Mr. Russell, Dr. Y/L/N," Haas bids you both farewell and heads out the door, leaving your new school in your hands.

"Well then, let's get to it, Mr. Russell." You beam before strutting off to your new office. Lee's attention lingers for a moment on your swaying hips as you pace away, but he quickly blinks the gaze away.

You spend the day getting to know each teacher and faculty member. Your favorite is Ms. Smith. She's awkward and nervous and you understand her somehow. She's seemingly always in tow as you make your rounds around the school today.

Gamby sequesters all the teachers into the lounge for a secret meeting. They all sit confused until Neal bursts out that Dr. Y/L/N has got to go. He offers a petition for everyone to sign to kick you to the curb, but no one will sign it.

"I don't want my name on that," says one teacher.

"Yeah, I like Dr. Y/L/N," says another.

Lee watches Neal's mutiny fizzle to nothing, laughing at him and stomping out his plan to overthrow. He derails Gamby's meeting and dismisses the teachers, seeming to have taken your side at this moment. Livid with no other options, Gamby takes his complaint to the school board. It's not until after that, that Lee comes to him and proposes they join forces to take a bitch like you down.

As the clock strikes 3:30 PM, dismissing the school for the busses, you sit back happily at your new desk. A new beginning for you and yours. It's been a long time coming.

The next day, it's as if you've fallen right into routine. You've never felt more at home in a community. Your coworkers are kind and attentive, it's all you could ever ask for. You happily make your rounds in your business casual pantsuit, strutting up and down the halls dominantly. The teachers appreciate how involved you are. Around every corner, just as you pass, a pair of hazel eyes track your every move for most of the morning.

Out in a wooded area past the field, Neal and Lee gather to conspire against you.

"God damn it, is it 7:45? Because my watch says 7:51 to me," Gamby stands from the rock he was perched on, waiting for Russell.

"Bitch needed a coffee," he lies. He was lingering behind to catch a few more glimpses of you. Of course you are their enemy, they have to be rid of you, but... Look at you. What's a man supposed to do? Neal further nags Lee about his tardiness and Lee pops off. After their little discourse, Russell reveals a binder stuffed to the brim with information about the new principal, you.

"Here take this, it's all the information I have on Dr. Y/L/N." He lists off the various kinds of documents he's ascertained.

"Did you make this yourself?" Gamby asks, a little disgusted, but also intrigued.

"Of fucking course I did. I have one on everyone in this school!"

"You better not have one on me," Neal grumbles, skimming the binder impossibly fast and passing it back to Lee. "Alright, I've memorized all the important information. Destroy it."

"What?" Lee looks fed up.

"I have a photographic memory."

"Yeah? Did you photographic memory the part where she fired every Vice Principal she's ever worked with?" Lee shifts his weight sassily to his right hip.

"Wait, where was that?" Gamby's face shifts to one of panic.

"Page one." The two men study the binder, learning more and more about you. You're an artist and you enjoy karaoke on the weekends. You smoke weed and you're known to partake in some social drinking every now and then. Then Lee's face flattens as he reads a fact about you that disappointed him the first time around too. You're married, and you have been for seven years.

"She's married?" Gamby arches a brow.

"Yeah, for a while, I guess. She uses her maiden name on her doctorate, though." Lee points to the paper.

"Average beta male, I'm guessing." Gamby shakes his head. "They'll never last."

"Gamby, they've been together for like seven or eight years." Lee rolls his eyes, frustrated by Neal's ignorance.

"So? Gale divorced me after 10 years. Christine left you after 20-"

"Okay, shut the fuck up, god damn it." He waves his hands in front of Gamby's face dismissively. "I don't wanna talk about that. This is what we need to be talking about." He points to the line containing the unfortunate demise of her past VP's employment agreement.

"You think she's gonna fire us?" Neal swallows the small lump in his throat.

"Why the fuck wouldn't she?" He taps his finger on the binder a few times before shoving it into Neal's chest. Sure, Lee may be taken by your beauty, but you're an obstacle for him first and foremost.

"Well, what do we do?" Mr. Gamby relaxes his shoulders.

"We need to get rid of the bitch. Pronto." Lee snatches his binder back, subconsciously a little protective of this Bible of you.

When the men return inside, Ms. Smith hastily scurries up to Mr. Gamby and advises him that you're waiting for him in your office. Lee and Neal look at each other, confused, before he makes his way to you. A gentle knock on the door announces his presence.

"Come in," you chirp, inviting your underling into your decorated office. You're really making it your own, decking the walls with photos of you and your husband with your pets. Gamby glances at the photos, noticing your big photographed smile next to your husband's blank face. He almost chuckles, having called it that your husband felt less than you. It's written all over his face. "Have a seat, Mr. Gamby."

Neal hesitantly takes a seat across from you, staring defiantly into your face. The room feels tense, but your eye contact is unwavering, and your smile remains soft and present despite your obvious disapproval of whatever you've called him in for.

"Mr. Gamby, someone's put in a complaint against me." You deliver this line like you're dishing to an old friend.

"That's... Strange. I wonder who would do that."

"Well, it says her 'Dr. Y/L/N is an unfit replacement for Mr. Wells. She is too young and inexperienced. Immediate termination is mandatory.'" You lie the small piece of paper containing the statement on the desk.

"That's, wow, that's something. Does it... Say who would send such a thing?" Neal's eyes glance everywhere, but at you.

"It does." He flinches as you say it. "Mr. Gamby, do you think my age stops me from running the school as well as you?"

"Well, it's just that the teachers-"

"What teachers? Names, Neal." You snap your fingers a few times. Rushing him only makes him trip over his words worse. He can't seem to piece together a lie. "Mr. Gamby, I'm not going anywhere. My age, my clothes, my car, none of it defines my ability to run this school. Now you can be on my team, or you can get your desk cleaned out. Your choice. Let's do better." You stand from your desk and gracefully make your way to the door where you hold it open, dismissing your subordinate.

Angry, one-upped, and tail tucked, Neal Gamby walks out of your office with a new understanding of his adversary. He schedules for Lee to meet him by the train tracks, another place the two come to meet off school grounds.

"I told your stupid ass not to send in that fucking complaint, let alone sign it," Lee sighs, utterly baffled by Neal's incompetence.

"Well, fuck!" Gamby tosses his arms up. "Now she knows I'm against her. She's gonna make my life a living hell."

"Oh, please. Give her some credit. She can't be that petty."

"You didn't hear her in there, Russell. I was almost just fired." Lee rolls his eyes at him, waiting for ages for him to stop bitching.

"Next period. She's got two back-to-back teacher meetings. That's a 72 minute window."

"A window for what?" Gamby's tone has calmed as curiosity overtakes anger.

"To get some dirt on this motherfucker."

Next period, just as Lee said, you're tied up with teacher meetings. The two men meet up in the parking lot and make their way to your home address, courtesy of Lee's information binder. When they arrive, they notice your husband's car in the driveway.

"That must be her fucking cuckold husband's car," Lee observes.

"God, don't tell me he's a stay-at-home wife."

"He's not. He's a pretty important figure at the law firm he works at... He shouldn't be here..." Lee narrows his eyes suspiciously. The two men very carefully park the car a few blocks away. Just as they're reaching for the handle to open the car doors, another car, a red sedan, pulls into your driveway. Lee and Neal duck down to hide, still watching the mystery car.

A beautiful, tan woman with long, thick black hair cascading down her back emerges from the car like a siren breaking past the surface of water. She's gorgeous. Even Neal finds himself at a loss for words. The lovely woman approaches the door to the home you share with your husband of almost 10 years and walks right inside. No knocking.

"I don't think her husband is the cuckold," Neal whispers. Lee's face is contorted into a devilish smile as he watches the perfect situation set up for him. He doesn't even need to get out of the car. Whipping out his phone, he dials the number to the school and does his best to disguise his voice. It works perfectly, and he advises that Ms. Swift alerts you right away that your house is on fire.

The two men return to the school, satisfied with the impending turmoil. Neal runs off to look busy, and Lee sits in the front office, waiting. He watches you receive the news, your face flushes white and your knees attempt to buckle before you bolt straight out the door. Mr. Russell wishes so badly he could be a fly on the wall when you catch your long-term husband in the hands of a beautiful, even younger woman. His secretary.

A few hours pass and you finally return to school. Your clothes are still perfectly styled and placed, and your hair is beautifully styled, but your make-up shows evidence of the flood of tears that has washed down your face. It's not easy to see, you'd have to be looking for the tear stains. And Lee was.

"Hey, there, darlin'. I saw you leaving in a hurry. Everything okay?" Lee catches you in conversation as you walk through the door.

"Everything's fine, Mr. Russell. False alarm. I guess I'm luckier than most," you smile warmly. So convincingly fine, he wonders if what he witnessed was even an affair at all.

"Well, are you sure? I-"

"Today is a beautiful day, isn't it?" You stare out the window into the sunny courtyard of the school.

"Uh, yeah. It's nice out."

"Let's just be thankful for that." You inhale and exhale with a big, peaceful smile before disappearing into your office. Lee's partially confused by your resolve, but he knows better than anyone how quickly that all fades away once reality sets in. The next few days, he's patiently awaiting your downfall.

To his dismay, every day you come in, you seem to be doing better and better. If he hadn't seen your husband stick his tongue down that woman's throat, he might even convince himself he dreamed the whole event. Lee's just about to give up on that scheme altogether until he stops by your office unannounced.

Without knocking, he swings the door open and steps inside.

"Hey, I got you your-" he stops in his tracks, two coffees in hand. You're sitting at your desk, sobbing in front of a photo of you and your husband at your wedding. Your shoulders shudder with every uneven breath from your heaving chest. All of a sudden, Lee no longer cares about the plan. He doesn't care if you go or stay. Guilt eats him alive as he listens to you try your hardest to keep quiet before you straighten up your appearance and make your rounds once again. He closes the door behind him and sets the drinks on your desk, only then do you notice his presence.

"Mr. Russell, I'm so sorry!" You startle, sitting up and quickly turning your chair away from him. You tap away at your wet face, but it's clearly a futile action. "Please excuse my hysterics. It's... been a weird week." You attempt to laugh the awkwardness away, but it lingers.

"I, um," Lee is shocked to find himself speechless. He always has something to say, especially when it comes to kicking an enemy while they're down. The perfect chance has just arisen, but when he sees the shine on your wide, watery eyes, he can't seem to force the venom out. "I brought you a coffee." You take the warm cup in your hands, reading the little logo from a locally owned coffee shop just a few miles down the road.

"Thank you, Mr. Russell." You smile weakly, appreciative of such kindness amid something so heartbreaking. For a moment, in your pitiful puddle of sadness, Lee can see himself. He's been through a divorce. In fact, it was his hellish schemes like his plan against you that ran his wife off. Guilt whittles away at him like a sharp knife against oak.

You're just about to take a sip from your gifted drink when Lee stops you, switching your cups.

"That one's mine, actually. Splenda." He smiles, nodding a silent goodbye to you and exiting your office. You watch as his hand reaches back inside, locks the door, and closes it for you, so you won't be disturbed again. It's been a while since it felt like someone did something kind of you just because, and not because you're the boss. This felt genuine, even for just a second.

"How is she?" Neal asks. Not in concern, but in reconnaissance.

"A fuckin' mess. I couldn't even fuck with her. It was like stepping on a puppy," Lee shakes his head as if he's disgusted, overwhelmed by the unexpected empathy he felt for you in that moment.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Russell. If you can't stick to the plan-"

"Don't even fuckin' start, motherfucker. You're the one comparing this shit to Christine." He waves a finger in Gamby's face. "It was a weird interaction. We're still going to break that bitch down, one way or another. I just need to separate myself from it." Gamby rolls his eyes at Lee's dramatics.

"Well, she needs to shape up. We've got a pep rally prep meeting in an hour." Neal and Lee head their separate ways and Lee finds himself lingering back around your office. That's when he hears the muffled sounds of your voice. You're on the phone. He puts his ear against the door shamelessly and tunes in.

"Mark, you can't fucking do this..." Your voice is low and calm at first. He can't hear Mark on the other end, but he gathers enough clues through what you're saying. "You don't get to do this, I get to do this. I'm the one who gets to leave... No, fuck you, Mark. You don't get to leave me! I'm leaving you! I caught you fucking your secretary, who, by the way, I feel terrible for! So I'm the one who gets to call this bullshit fucking marriage quits!... I will put you in the ground if you think you're taking my dog!" Lee hears the sound of you slamming the phone onto the receiver. Seconds later, you're opening the door, standing right in front of Lee. You're quite literally blind with rage, walking right past him and heading for one of the rear doors of the school.

"Dr. Y/L/N?" He trails behind you, quietly attempting to gain your attention, but you keep walking. He can nearly see the heat waves coming off of you. If physics allowed it, he just knows your head would be on fire right now. You get outside, but your feet don't stop there, and neither do his. You're deep in the woods, only 20 feet or so from Lee and Neal's meeting place. When you finally stop, you throw your head back and release the most guttural, angry wail he's ever heard. It only lasts a few seconds, and when you're done, it turns to a few short moments of shaky breaths before you finally feel like both of your feet are back on Earth.

"Mr. Russell, hello." You turn around, red from embarrassment having been seen like that.

"Dr. Y/L/N." He nods.

"Did you, uh, you followed me out here, huh? Saw some of... That?" You shift back and forth from the ball of your foot to the heel.

"Well," again, he can't make himself say the horrendous insults he had chambered, poised as harmless remarks. "I just got here," he says, and you know he's lying, but you appreciate it all the same.

"I don't usually react like that," you admit, taking a seat on a fallen tree. Lee glances behind him and then joins you where you sit. "I was doing a lot better."

"What do you mean?" Lee feigns a tone of genuine concern, though his curiosity is at the wheel as well.

"I have- used to have a little bit of a temper." Your shoulders drop as if a weight has been lifted off of them. Like you've been holding on to this. "I've been medicated for a while and I was in therapy a few years ago. I haven't really lost it in almost six years. Mark was such a big help, I guess this all just felt..."

"Like a punishment?"

"Yeah! Exactly!" You're shocked to see your eccentric coworker relating to you in this way.

"My wife left me last year," he confesses with a defeated smile. He looks at the ground, quickly reliving coming home to that empty house.

"I'm sorry to hear that..." A short silence lingers between the two of you as neither knows what to say to make it better, so Lee just changes subjects altogether.

"We uh, have a 'pep rally prep meeting' soon," he quotes Gamby.

"It seems we do," you sigh. "I'd appreciate it if we could keep this between us, Mr. Russell."

"'Course we can." He smiles a kind, fake smile and escorts you out of the woods. As you walk ahead of him, his facade drops and he silently scolds himself for yet again, dropping the ball. Not only did he not antagonize, he may have even helped just now. What the fuck?

At the meeting, you and Lee walk in together. Gamby eyes him suspiciously as you take your seat at the head of the room. The meeting is about trivial nonsense like themes, refreshments, and performances. The group comes up with several really good ideas, and you're left to be the deciding factor.

You settle on pizza and sweets, to treat the kids and get their energy high for the day of. As far as performances, you've reached out to a few local gymnast groups that could put on a feat of athletics. Fun! Theme is where you're stuck. Everyone's got sparkling ideas. Circus theme, underwater, Mardi Gras. But it's not enough for you. It doesn't scream "winners" to you.

"The theme is- wait, what's our mascot again?" You glance around the room. "All I ever see are feathers. Is this a Boston Reds situation?"

"Well... Yeah..." Ms. Snodgrass pipes up.

"We'll need to get that remedied." You give a 'yeesh' expression. "Top of the docket next meeting."

"Wait, we can't use the Indians?" Gamby asks, confused.

"Let's don't call them that. We're gonna put a pin in this conversation and turn it back to the theme." You mime putting a pin in a corkboard.

"But-"

"Mr. Gamby, if the next word out of your mouth isn't the best fucking theme idea I've ever heard, I will take you out back myself." Your threat works to silence him, but it also sends a wave of unease over the room. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, attempting to regain control of the room. You can hear the other teachers whispering and it finally dawns on you that you've forgotten to take your medicine. You've been so busy with Mark and meetings, you haven't taken the only thing that stops you from being the absolute menace that you are.

"I'm thinking, we play to our strengths," Lee stands, drawing every set of eyes off of you and onto him. "We're already warriors, let's just slap a different image on that. Knights in armor or something for the pep rally until you choose a new mascot."

"That's a great idea, Mr. Russell!" You beam, thankful for his introjection. You're starting to really trust him, which is exactly what he wants. Regardless of if he's able to hurt your feelings, he can still gather your sensitive information and use it against you. It's his specialty.

The meeting is adjourned and everyone returns to their duties. You scan the area and call Neal and Lee into your office.

"I really appreciate the friend and second in command you've been, Mr. Russell. And by default, you, Gamby." Your tone earns a sneer from Neal. "I am in for some real fucked up bullshit coming in the next few, I don't know, weeks? Months?" You toss your arms up. "I'm just really thankful to have you both here. I really hope the three of us can get closer and really solidify as an admin team."

The two men thank you for your words of praise and leave you to it in your office. As they walk away, Neal whispers harshly to Lee.

"What the fuck was all that? You're being a friend to her? I thought we were breaking her down?"

"We are breaking her down. You just don't understand how much worse words can hurt when they're coming from a friend. Probably because you don't have any."

"Fuck you, Russell," Gamby huffs.

#lee russell vice principals #vice principals smut #vice principals hbo max #vice principals max #vice principals fanfiction #vice principals #lee russell #walton goggins #danny mcbride #neal gamby #hbo max #hellfirecvnt

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shhh-secret-time · 11 months ago

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Another request from A03! I am so very sorry this one took so long I actually had to start this one over a few times because I actually lost a big chunk of it when I first started writing it! Nothing takes the wind out of my sails faster.

Warning: NSFW, Dom!Stan, Sub!Reader, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Writer doesn't know shit about college or sports ball, Slight Voyeurism, Strong Language, Stan might be a little OOC

Pairing: Stan x Fem!Reader

Notes: Hey uh welcome to this week's episode of, "Writer don't know how to write conflict to save her life!" I'm very bad at coming up with a reason to fight people, it's not in my nature so I'm sorry if it seems forced!

You hated Stan Marsh

You hated him and most of the football players at your university. Them and their spotlight hogging, annoying, disgusting, sweaty, irritating habits! You and your girls bust your ass off at every practice, sports game, and pep rally South Park University places on your teams’ shoulders, and what do you get for it?

To hear things like, "Oooooh did you see how Cartman played center?" or "Clyde is so hot when he takes his helmet off and has that messy hair!" even, "Kyle plays football AND basketball with perfect grades? Why is he soooo perfect!"

But the one that got under your skin the most was Stanely fucking Marsh, the star quarterback. The man walks around the school with his little crowd of admirers everywhere he went, and for what? Just because he throws a stupid ball around and can run quick? Fuck him.

Your girls put in twice the work they do; you've been to every one of their games. You had to. Your group had to coordinate with the football players, the basketball players, the volleyball team, the hockey team, hell you even had to coordinate with the wrestling team. It was exhausting trying to keep up with it all.

And what did your cheer squad get? Perverted remarks and dismissive attitudes! The final straw was when the Cows mascot got more respect than your group did. You brought your complaints up to the school's councilor, to the headmaster, to anyone who would listen.

Word travels fast around the small town of South Park, people dating and breaking up. Who cheated on who, who's throwing the best parties, who threw up in who's car. Shit like that. Not much changes from high school to college, just a lot less sneaking around and more energy drinks and pain meds. So of course, when your complaints got to the one and only Stan Marsh, he confronted you about it.

"Hey! Hey wait up!" His voice rings out past the busy sounds of other students trying to get to their classes. "You're the captain of the cheer squad, right?" He all but corners you while you're walking with your friends, he doesn't have his little squad of goons following him around.

"Are you serious?" How could he not know who you are?! You've only been to every one of his stupid games! Only been sitting on the sidelines of every practice! "Yes! I am! What do you want?!"

Stan flinched back at the venom in your voice but that didn't stop him from shooting you a look. "Uh...did I do something wrong? I heard from one of the guys that you're not exactly...happy and I was just trying to figure out what we did."

"What you did. What did he do girls? Can anyone answer Mr. Marsh's question~?" The tone in your voice did not match the smile on your face. It sounded chipper but anyone listening could tell it was fake.

Your little group always had your back, most of them felt the same way you did. If anything, it just amplified that anger, knowing your girls were feeling underappreciated. It was your job as the captain to protect your girls, but every time you brought it up to them, they seemed to shy away from saying anything.

"Well, geez Stan, you gotta admit your team's been kinda hoggin' the spotlight. You know what I'm tryin' ta say don't ya?" It wasn't just your girls you had to protect; it was your sweet little angel Butters too. Although you guys called him by his first name when cheering with him, he was Leo to you. And right now, Leo was trying to bridge the gap between you and your rival.

"Veeery good Leo! That's right, Stan and his team don't seem to give a shit how hard we work to cheer his team on! The whole school would rather worship the ground their star quarterback walks on!"

"The school doesn't worship the ground I walk on! You can't pin this on me!" Stan shot back trying to defend himself, it was hard not to feel attacked even though you were the only one glaring at him.

A part of you knew that he was right, it really wasn't his fault that small towns in America went crazy for football.

"W-we're not pinnin' anything on ya! Just sayin' maybe, it wouldn't hurt to tell the guys to show us a little bit more respect! You know Eric's been pickin' on me ever since I joined the girls, sayin' some awfully mean things."

"Leo is right! You may not have a hand in the way people think but that's just the problem, you don't do anything to stop it! If you were really the captain of your little team you'd step up!" You took a step towards him, your face getting inches away from his face.

Ignoring the fact that you had to look up at him, you wouldn't let him leave without getting your point across. His eyes narrowed down at you, matching the energy you were giving out to him. Butters looked between the both of you with a nervous look, he could practically see the electricity bouncing between your eyes. The poor blond didn't mean to start a fight, he was just trying to help.

"If you had a problem with my team, you should have come to me then. Why did I have to find out from other people?" Stan's voice dipped to a low growl which almost made you give one in return.

"I shouldn't have had to go to anyone in the first place Marsh! Get your team under control or else!" You felt your face turn red; it was getting harder to argue with him when those ocean blue eyes were burning into yours.

That was new. Just going to lock that in your vault of things to not think about again.

Thankfully Butters finally stepped in, physically putting his body between the both of you. "C-come on now guys let’s all just calm down. We both said our peace and now we can work it out, right? Next time we practice we can be on the same page!"

"Sure Butters." Stan clicked his tongue as he looked at his friend, but that didn't stop him from getting one last jab in. "You better hope you don't slip up princess, because if you do. I'll be there and I'll be quick to remind you of your shortcomings." And with that he turned on his heel and started walking down the hallways.

"Princess?! Excuse me?!"

"Oh geez..."

Stan slammed his locker with a little more force than he should have, the rusty door screamed out and bounced back open. With an annoyed groan he pushed back on the metal with a little less force, but the damage was already done, the door was now on its last leg and would most likely not shut right. Just more fuel to the fire.

"Whoa dude what did that poor locker do to you? Don't you think it's been through enough." Kenny looked over from his locker with a little smirk.

One of the few times Kenny was without his parka, a towel wrapped around his waist and his bright blond hair clung to his skin. Stan could smell the smell of fresh soap and hints of pine in the air. He sighed in response to Kenny's teasing, clearly not in the mood for his friend's antics.

"Not now man, I don't have the energy." Stan grabbed his jacket and pulled it up onto his torso.

"Ah that's not good, wanna tell your old pal Kenny? I won't even charge ya, come on what's going on."

Stan pressed his lips together and he tried to focus on zipping up the worn-out brown coat he always wore, the zipper struggled to hold together. He cursed under his breath a few times before the thing finally zipped all the way up. For a moment Stan thought about not saying anything, but Kenny was never the type to judge or the type to let things go if he knew something was bothering his friends.

"You know the captain of the cheerleaders?"

"The really hot one?"

"Kenny!" Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, something he picked up from his mother when they were both aggravated, "That's not the point."

"Says you. She's a baddy for real. Take no shit kinda woman~! The feisty ones are the ones that bite the hardest. You got your work cut out for you if you're trying to shoot your shot. I heard she turned down everyone else on the team!"

"Dude! I'm not gonna ask her out!"

"You're not? Then why'd you bring her up? Is this about the fight you guys had in the hall?"

Stan stopped and looked up at him in shock. "You heard about that already?"

"Oh yeah, you guys's are the talk of the school. Everyone thinks you guys had a little lovers spat. I had to hear the whole story from Leo!" Kenny chuckled as he grabbed started getting changed, pulling the patchy orange pants up his legs.

"Even you're calling him Leo now..." Stan muttered but quickly shook his head, "but that's not what I was going to say! I was going to...talk about that but if you already know."

"Yeah, I don't really know what that's all about but Leo kinda spelled it out for me. She's not mad at you per say just mad at the position you're in. A jealousy thing maybe but honestly, I think she's just tired of taking the back seat so to speak."

"What am I supposed to do about that? It's not my fault!" Stan threw his hands up the irritation on face made Kenny laugh again.

"I didn't say it was dude. I'm just telling you what I think, but man, she really got under your skin." Kenny smirks over at him with a playful purr.

"No, she didn't! I don't even care."

"Yep, that totally looks like the face that doesn't care~" Kenny pulled his zipper up and adjusted the collar as he spoke. "Look, let’s pretend for a second you do care. If I were you, I'd just talk to her. Ask her what you can do to make things right, because I'll be honest man, she's the last person you wanna make an enemy of. She'll make your life hell." Kenny finished making his point by wrapping his arm around Stan's neck and pulling him in for a side hug. "Besides, it's not like you have to work close with her, just work around her."

"Yeah..."

But of course, it could never be that simple, could it? Every time Stan tried to catch you to talk to you something got in his way. Monday you were busy with your classes zipping around the hall, Stan could barely get a word in. Tuesday you had to help Butters with his outfit so of course you didn't have time for him. Wednesday was the big pep rally for Friday's game, so that meant Thursday was for practice.

Thursday was hell. Stan was supposed to be focused on getting his team ready for the game. They were practicing dodging other players and passing the ball across the field. Stan was supposed to be working on his throw, he needed the ball to go further than normal. Kyle was getting faster at running and if Stan fell behind their whole strategy would be thrown out the window.

But of course, you couldn't make it easy. It was getting harder and harder to focus on what he needed to do when you were being tossed in the air. The way your dark green and gold skirt caught the sunlight, and the way the puffy looking poms in your hands shook back and forth. Stan knew he was in trouble when he stopped paying attention for a moment when you laughed at something Annie said. Next thing he knew he felt the football knock him on the side of the head. And of course, that's when you looked over, he felt his face heat up when you giggled and covered your mouth.

He hated you. Hated your pretty smile, the way you laughed made his blood boil and his body turn hot. Your stupid lips curled into a gorgeous smile and the way your thighs looked good enough to sink his teeth into, what he'd give to walk over and kiss that smug look off your-

Stan let out a growl that came from deep in his chest as he threw the ball down the field hitting Kyle in the chest. The poor red head just took it, letting out a grunt as it managed to get past the gear meant to keep him safe. He wouldn't let his mind wonder there, not for you. Not when you're the one who attacked him and then started avoiding him every chance you got.

"Marsh!" He winced when he heard Coach Miles below his name, he didn't need to see his face to know he was in trouble.

With a sigh he took his helmet off and ran his fingers through his messy black hair, the helmet causing his hair to stick up. As he walked over, he could feel your eyes on him, and all he could do was scowl. Trying not to think about how you must be eating this up.

Stan's scowl dropped when he heard the coach call your last name and gesture for you to come over. Your eyes widened at the way the coach called for you, you'd never heard him so angry at you before. You gave your poms to Wendy as you ran over, walking behind him as he gestured for you and Stan to follow him.

Coach Miles took you both back inside through the gym, once the three of you were alone, he crossed his arms and glared down at you both. "So, the big game is tomorrow and some of the students have come to be with worries about the way you two were at each other’s throats." He paused for only a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let me make something very clear, we are not in high school anymore. So whatever problem you two have with each other, fix it. You’re adults, act like them."

"I've tried! She doesn't want to work this out!" Stan's mouth moved before he thought about the consequences, but he was just so tired of this whole thing. Even if he agreed with his Coach, this whole situation had him at the end of his rope.

"What?! No, you didn't! You just bitched to Kenny-"

"I didn't bitch! I was asking for advice!" Stan stopped and glared over at you again, it seems like that's the only look he gave you nowadays. "I tried to talk to you in the halls and you blew me off!" How did you even know about he talked to Kenny anyway?!

Fucking Butters.

"I told you what my problem was with you Marsh!"

"No, you didn't! All you did was-"

"Enough!" The Coach's voice boomed over your little squabble and echoed off the gymnasium walls. "I was hoping you two would be mature enough that I didn't have to do this, but I guess I was wrong."

You and Stan watched as Coach Miles stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out a folded-up piece of paper. Unfolding it, he handed it to you and huffed. It was a warning slip, something he never gave out to you or Stan. "So, unless you both figure this out, you're both benched. Off the field and you can watch the rest of the students play without you."

"What?!" Your voices came out in unison, shocked at the very thought of not getting to be a part of tomorrows big game.

"I mean it! Figure yourselves out or you're out! I can have McCormick take your spot Marsh and Testaburger has plenty of experience leading!"

"But Coach-"

"No! I shouldn't have had to do this in the first place! I'm not your dad, I'm not your counselor, I'm a Coach! You both are lucky I'm even giving you a second chance! You have until tomorrow." Every word that came out of Coach Miles's mouth pierced like a sword.

You flinched and pulled back just as Stan did each time, he emphasized his frustration. It was a verbal lashing unlike one you've ever gotten, and you were grateful when he turned and left. You weren't sure if you could take much more.

An uncomfortable silence fell over you and Stan as you both just stood there. The slight buzzing sound of the fans overhead and Stan's deep breaths were all you could hear. Each time he inhaled through his nose he would exhale through his mouth, but it didn't look like it was actually doing anything to calm him.

You've heard when Stan got yelled at by Coach Miles, and not once did he look this angry. Your eyes trailed down his jawline watching as he started grinding his teeth together, the look on his face said it all. He was holding something back, he looked like a lit fuse ready to blow. You didn't know if that anger was at you, the Coach, the situation, or all the above. But a part of you really wanted to find out, and Miles did tell you to work it out.

"So... you wanted to talk. I'm here."

Stan's head snapped over towards you, the look on his face was a mix of anger and bewilderment. Shocked that you would break the silence like that. He felt his stomach churn, a feeling he hasn't felt since he was a kid.

It always felt like he was on a roller-coaster going too fast, that fluttering feeling one would feel when the ride would hit that high and then dropped to that low. Only this time it felt like the pit of his stomach was also on fire, his stomach was a cauldron ready to boil over. As he opened his mouth to speak nothing came out, he just let his mouth hang open for a second and then he shut it again. He was holding back still.

You rolled your eyes and jut your hip out, arms crossing under your chest. "Just say it. I know you want to yell, so yell. I'm a big girl I can take whatever you could possibly throw at me."

When Stan didn't respond but instead walked towards you, your arms dropped, and you took a step back. So caught up in the dark blues of his eye you barely registered when your back hit the wall, it wasn't until you realized he had you backed into a corner that you grasped the situation you were in. He slammed his arm over your head making your heart leap in your chest, and your hands come up in defensively.

You weren't scared that he was going to hurt you, you never got that from Stan, he never seemed like that type. But the way he looked down at you made your heart speed up and a shiver run down your spine. Never had you felt like a rabbit trapped in a pen with a wolf. Something about that excited you.

"What are you doing-"

"Shut.up." Stan's voice dips an octave as he whispers out the command.

The gravel in his voice is cut by the way he slams his lips down onto yours. You have just enough time to push back into the kiss when he pulls away and continues. "You...have made my life.... fucking hell...this entire week!" His complaints almost falls on deaf ears from the way he's kissing you in between them. "I don't know why I get so.... worked up with you!" He emphasizes the last part by grabbing your jaw and forcing your face up towards him.

It's only been a week and you've already got him wrapped around your finger, so tightly wound up that he was beginning to snap. And maybe you were wrapped around his, the smirk on your face was short lived when he bit your bottom lip. A small gasp escaping your lips giving him enough of an opening to slip his tongue in your mouth. You moan against his lips and grip the front of his jersey by the collar. If he wanted to get handsy you could get handsy. You pulled him down into the kiss somehow deepening it further.

Your tongues push back and forth against each other, neither giving way to the other. His tongue was relentless but so was yours. It wasn't until you felt a bit of drool dripping down the side of your mouth did it click. You were making out with, what you thought, was the biggest asshole on campus. Yet you couldn't pull away, couldn't pull away from his hold on you.

On the other side of things, Stan's mind was going blank. With every twist of your tongue and lips he felt himself getting addicted. Hungry lips moving from yours to devour the soft flesh of your neck. He bites down with enough force to pull a cry from you and to leave a mark. Right where your shoulder meets your neck, teeth marks bright and red poked out of your cheerleading uniform.

"You fucking ass! That's going to leave a mark!" You hiss at him, but it just turns to another moan as he sucks on the patch of skin near your collarbone.

"Good!" He growls back coming off your skin with a pop. "I have tried all week to work with you! All fucking week to work with your bitchy attitude!"

"My attitude?! Fuck you! I was trying-"

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" He cuts you off with a smirk, one that would give the devil a run for his money.

"What?!" You white knuckle his jersey with both hands now.

"You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid." His hands reach down to the back of your thighs, cupping them as he lifts you up and slams you back into the wall. Not enough to hurt but enough to remind you of the predicament you're in.

"Says the man who had his tongue down my throat!" Predicament be damned. He would not win this fight just because he slots himself between your legs and pushes his arousal against your thigh.

Those football pants left nothing for the imagination, the thought of leaving him with that hard on in those pants crossed your mind for a moment. But when he rolled his hips against your clothed sex you had to focus on biting back the moan instead.

"It shut you up, didn't it? You didn't seem to want me to stop when you were moaning against me."

You glared down at him and ran your fingers through his hair, giving the roots a firm tug; you smirked when he moaned. His face turned red making him lunge forward and bite your neck again. Your nails dug into his scalp which only seemed to encourage him to leave marks.

"Just shut the fuck up and...and fuck me already!" You tried to keep the moan out of your voice, but when he found that soft spot on your neck it just turned into a whimper.

That smug bastard lips turned up into a smirk, he pulls back just long enough to take a look around the gym. All he could hear was you panting heavily trying to catch your breath and the same dull fan buzzing. He looked down at you for a moment and for a second you thought he'd pull away. That he'd come to his senses and realize that maybe this wasn't exactly what the Coach meant.

But he didn't. Instead, he pulls your face back up for another kiss, this one was a lot less angry. There was still that heat behind each press of his lips, but it was more controlled, not like when he was trying to get you to stop talking. He presses his forehead against yours for a moment, the sweat from practice earlier dripping down his neck, it would almost be sweet if the situation leading up to it didn't happen.

"We have to be quick."

"Here?! Are you out of your mind, what if we get caught!?"

"Would you just let me-" You feel him move you to his forearm, where he pins you between the wall and his body. "You've got me so worked up! I don't know why I find your endless complaining and bitching so hot!" The confession spilled out of his mouth once again without a second thought as his hands move up your skirt.

His hands grope and squeeze at your thighs and then your ass pulling another sweet moan from your lips. "Don't act like you're free from it! You like to think you're sooooo much better than me but you're just like me!"

"I know!" He grunts as he pushes your underwear to the side making you shiver when the cold air hits your cunt.

Stan watches as your eyes flutter shut when he slams his fingers into your wet hole, his fingers coated with your sweet juices. He licks his lips when your mouth hangs open and a shaky gasp is pulled from you. "Look at you already so fucking wet for me. I thought you hated me huh?"

"Sh... shit. I-I do hate you!" Your weak attempt to bite back fall short when he curls his finger in you, slamming his fingers in and out of you.

His lips ghost over yours as he buries himself to the knuckle in your pretty cunt. He watches as you suck his fingers in further and further. The sounds you're making makes his cock throb in his pants, straining against the white material. "Yeah? Doesn't feel like you hate me. You were ordering me to fuck you earlier."

"I-I... oh fuck! Harder!"

Stan smirks down at you and there's no comment this time. How can he when you look so damn sweet, nails digging into his shoulders clinging to him for dear life. He stops his fingers and glares down at you. "Say please."

"B-bite me."

He does. He leans down and bites down on the tip of your ear, his husky voice laced with danger. "I'm not moving my fingers from your cunt until I get a please."

"G-God damn it Stan j-just.... ugh please! Please go harder!"

For a moment he looks up like he's thinking about it, pondering whether he should or not. You could have smacked that smug look off his face but when his fingers drill deeper into you all you can do is throw your head back. As if it wasn't enough, he finds that perfect spot, making you clench around his digits.

"Fuck you look so good when you're like this. You gonna cum around my fingers princess? Go ahead, let me feel you clench around them." He talks you through your orgasm with a steady tone, making you lull your head to the side as you reach your climax.

His fingers stay buried in you for a bit before he pulls them out, you almost whimper at the loss of them. But it was cut short when he wrapped his lips around his fingers. Sucking the slick off his digit while keeping eye contact with you. The telltale sign of a blush crept up your neck and across your face when he removed his index finger from his mouth.

"You're so gross..."

"Whatever." He clicked his tongue at your comment, even after he pulled an orgasm out of you; you still had something to say. His hands move across your ass again giving the flesh a firm squeeze. You slapped his shoulder when he chuckled at your little squeak. "Hmm~ I liked you begging. Let’s see if I can't get more of that out of you."

He moves his hands down to his pants and slips them down to his thighs. He fumbles for a moment with his boxers before he just decides to give up and pull his cock through the flap. He did say this needed to be quick and he already wasted time fingering you against the gym wall. Not that he regretted it, he had half a mind to do it again, but if the precum leaking out of the slit of his cock was anything to go by he need release soon.

Stan glides his cock against your folds a few times, coating his cock in your arousal, his breath hitches when you roll your hips back. When his eyes meet yours again his knees almost buckle under the weight of your lustful gaze. The way your eyelids lower and your mouth falls open again with each drag of his cock. He takes the base of his member and slaps it against your cunt a few times. "Come on princess, tell me you want this. Tell me you don't really hate me."

"I...." You trail off, letting your stubborn attitude take over but Stan isn't making it easy. Each passing second you don't answer him he nudges the tip of his cock in your entrance, not quite pushing in to give you that pleasure. "I hate that I like it that you call me that! I hate the way my heart speeds up when you kiss me! I hate that I like you!" Your words roll off your tongue like a confession, the way you throw your head back the frustration growing in your tone.

Stan growls again, that sound being pulled out of him more times today than his entire life, but he can't resist you. It's like he's a puppet and you're holding all the strings. His hands come up to your hips and guide you down the length of his cock just as your legs wrap around his waist. The muscles in your legs keep him in place making his cock throb again, you feel it bob against your walls.

"You have...no fucking idea...how much I've wanted this! Every time you got thrown in the air-" He lets out a shaky moan as he pulls you off his cock and slides you right back down. "Every... every time you giggled and flashed that perfect smile." Stan nuzzled into the crook of your neck while his hips begin to find the perfect rhythm. "Everything about you is perfect and I fucking hate it!"

Stan's little burst of irritation comes out from the way he begins picking up speed. You cling onto him as he continues piercing up into you, your arms wrapping around his neck to try as your back slides up and down against the wall. "Oh god Stan!"

"Listen to yourself. Calling my name like that, you drive me crazy! I'm not going to be able to stop. You gonna let me cum in you? I don't wanna stain that pretty uniform of yours." The way he's moaning out your name in between breaths makes your stomach do flips.

You can't find the strength to answer so you settle for nodding and moaning his name. He doesn't say anything else besides the occasional cursing and small grunts, so focused on bullying your insides. You feel the coil in your stomach tighten and tighten until the knot starts to snap. Your walls grip his cock as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, your voice has gone hoarse from moaning and screaming his name. He feels his cock twitch when he sees you climax around him, it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The way your mouth hangs open, lips slightly swollen from how hard you kissed him. The way your hair was out of place and the way your uniform was messed up from how hard he was thrusting into you.

"Fuck...I'm...I'm cumming." He groaned as he emptied himself inside you. Thick hot arousal shooting up and painting your insides, it made you whimper and squirm.

There was another moment of silence that fell over you two, it wasn't the heavy awkward one the Coach had left you in. It was almost comfortable by the way Stan was pressing soft kisses into your neck, his lips moving up to your jawline and to the corner of your mouth. You ran your fingers through his hair again trying to smooth it out instead of tugging.

"So....this certainly was one way to work out our problems..."

Stan hummed in response as he slowly pulled you off him, you couldn't help but gasp at the feeling of loss again. As he pulls his pants and boxers up, he takes out the small towel he has tucked away in the pockets of his pants, and gently begins to clean your thighs. The action makes you smile a little, how one minute he could go from destroying you against a wall to treating you like some doll. When he sets you down his hands linger on your hips a little longer like he's trying to make sure you're alright enough to stand.

"Yeah...hey, I'm sorry. I'm not...good at confrontation and I shouldn't have got defense with you." His apology almost makes your heart break but at the same time it feels so warm.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken my jealousy out on you. You didn't deserve that, it's not your fault." You fiddle with the material of his jersey, rolling it between your fingertips.

"Jealous? Why would you be jealous?" Stan asks completely dumbfounded by the idea.

"Because everyone always talks about you and your team! It's always how great you are, and everyone seems to like you!"

"Really? Because I always hear about how amazing you guys are. Every game the guys always feel better knowing that even if we lose you guys were cheering for us. I can't tell you how happy Butter's has been since you let him join the squad." He chuckles and goes to move a lock of your hair behind your ear.

"Awh...that's so sweet." You look up at him with a little giggle and a smile, which he returns. "Now I feel all bad."

"Nah don't feel bad...I'm just glad we got this straightened out. I know it's a little backwards but...do you think I could take you out after the game tomorrow? Win or lose I just...kinda wanna spend more time with you." He gives you a sheepish smile and a small blush creeps across his face.

"Only if you don't mind me bitching." You joke back with a little hum, pushing yourself up against him.

"It'll go great with mine." He smirks back down at you and places a kiss on your lips.

Word travels fast around campus. When you both walked out of the gym smiling at each other neither teams could believe it. Even more so when next week you were walking around with Stan's jacket over your shoulders and your pinky wrapped around his. The star quarterback's last name written in big blocky letters on your back and your lipstick staining his cheek. Definitely not a normal way to start a relationship, but that was you and Stan's little secret.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

Between the Lines 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, Lee is rude, customer service triggers. and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters:Lee Bodecker

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Another day, another shift. It starts off less than ideal. Traffic is a slog and there’s customers outside waiting for open as you walk up. You have to escape them like a zombie horde to get inside. This time of year, they tend to resemble extras in The Walking Dead.

You put your things in the back and punch in. You help Giselle with the opening list as her lashes droop precariously. She’s never very awake on her morning shifts. As you balance the till, she yawns and checks her phone.

“That old lady is out again. Something about her back,” she pops a piece of gum in her mouth and starts chewing noisily. “Not like she could do much more than wring her hands.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you login and look across the store. You prefer being on the floor but you won’t get to stretch your legs until after noon.

“Eh, whatever. Not many seasonals this year,” she drones, “good, I don’t have to put up with children.”

You glance at her. She’s not much older than the high school students who come in to work the holiday sales. She’s just into her sophomore year and has the false sense of authority that often replaces the freshman fear.

You won’t mention that you have a masters and you’re still standing in the same place as her. Albeit, you’re full time and a pay grade higher. Still, it’s not that steep a gap between you.

The first customers are let in and swiftly fan out in their missions. A man comes up to ask about Tom Clancy’s novels and you point him in the right direction, telling him that Colton will be there to help out. He thanks you and shuffles away.

The morning drags by as you ring through the early birds. It’s that time of day where everyone is still waking up and seems to have something to complain about. You’ve suggested complementary coffee in hopes that it might quell their gripes.

Around eleven, you lean on the counter, the store effectively empty, and your headset crackles. Your name is called over the line to go to the operations room. You look at Giselle but she’s transfixed on her phone. She doesn’t even hear you say you’ll be right back.

The assistant manager, Colin, greets you in the operations room, one desk empty as he sits in another and wiggles a pen. You hover by the door as he keeps his focus on the monitor. For people who work in a bookstore, they do prefer the digital to the hard copy.

“Alright, let’s not waste time,” he leans back, finally tearing his attention from the computer, “got a complaint about you.”

“What?” You frown.

“Doing customer surveys, the online ones. This one’s particularly glowing,” he squints at the monitor again, “‘extremely dismissive and condescending. Kept trying to walk away’.”

“I never… are you sure it’s me?”

“They got your name. I went over the tape and it tracks. This guy, cop it looks like, you walked away twice. Why?” Colin points the pen at you derisively.

“Um, well, he told me to but changed his mind,” your eyes flutter as your nerves wind up. God, it has to be that jerk officer. “I did help him but he didn’t seem to want it.”

“Not what he says and he is a customer,” Colin sighs, “going to have to write you up, sweetie.”

You blink and hold your eyes shut. This is bullshit. You know better than to voice that thought.

“A write-up?”

“Relax, you got three before we do anything,” he pulls a paper over the desk and turns it towards you, “take the slap on the wrist and get back out there. It’s books. Just… smile a bit more and…” he pauses, his gaze dipping beneath your face, “maybe push your shoulders back. Posture’s important.”

You sniff back your disgust. You know what he means. Shoulders back; chest out. Gross. You cross the room and take the pen, reading over the write-up and the comments copy-pasted from the survey. Wow, what a jackass. You sign. Despite being a corporate peon, Colin’s right. It’s easier to just take the mark on your record.

“Thanks, sweetie,” he slides the paper away, “get back on the till.”

You nod and back out of the office. You shake your head as you stride through the store. This is so stupid and where the hell is Mr. Pine? He would’ve at least heard you out and overridden this nonsense decision. He’s been elusive lately and it shows.

You get back to cash as Giselle pops her gum noisily, “where were you, I gotta pee.”

“Go,” you wave her off as you step up behind the machine, “dead in here anyway.”

🚓

The day ends in the furor of after-work shoppers. You finally get free of the rush and into the lot. The air is crisp and whispers of the coming snows. Not quite cold enough as only a cold mist flecks down and has the tarmac shining black.

You go to your car and fish out your keys. As you do, someone rolls up behind your bumper and stops, exhaust puffing up in a stink. You shove the key in the door and glance over as someone gets out, staring at you over the roof of the cruiser. What the hell?

“Finished for the day?” The officer asks, the very same blight you had the pleasure of meeting the other day.

“Yes, officer.”

“Don’t sound so happy,” he comments, “nasty weather, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you nod and open your door, throwing your bag across to the passenger side.

“You’re being shifty… you nervous around cops?” He challenges as he rounds the hood of his car, nonchalantly idling in the lane.

“No,” you shrug, “I’m just headed home. Worked a long day, sir.”

“Oh yeah? You work so hard, don’t ya?” He scoffs, “smiles all worn out, ain’t it?”

He looms close, putting his hand on the roof of your car as his other comes up to touch your chin. You step back to look at him, crowded against the open door. You gape at him, heart pumping wildly.

“Officer, can I help you with something?”

“Sheriff,” he taps the star emblazoned on his coat, just under the fleecy collar, “I’m not lookin’ for your help, don’t you worry, but you look like you got a load on ya so I’m just doing my duty here and checkin’ in.”

You set your jaw. You’re not working, you have no obligation to pander. You’re parked between the lines, your insurance is up to date, and you’re tired as fuck.

“I’m good, sir. Thanks for asking. I gotta get home.”

He smiles, his hand falling to your scarf. He fixes the fabric as you fidget, resisting the voice that hollers at you to push him away. Assault on an officer is the last thing you need.

“Get home and cozy, huh?” He smirks, his blue eyes sparkling, “got someone special waitin’ on ya?”

“Sir?” You frown.

“Dangerous livin’ alone. I’m just makin’ sure you’re safe.”

You clamp your lips tight. He wrote a whole essay about you’re disservice to him, so why is he bothering you now? This is quite the power trip.

“Fine, sir. My cat will be hungry, so uh…”

“Ah, one of those,” he snorts and pulls away.

“One of…” your voice trails back.

“Don’t need no man,” he tuts, “you got your cat. They all say that before they know what’s what.” He wags his fingers as he backs away, “there’s only so much you can learn from books, you’ll see.”

You stare, frozen in place. Is that a threat? Is this all because you tried to help him? Because you didn’t just take his entitlement and swallow it like cherry pie? As absurd as it seems, it’s still scary as hell.

#lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #dark!lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #series #drabble #au #bookstore au #between the lines #the devil all the time

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bi-bard · 1 year ago

Text

I Saw the End, it Looks Just Like the Middle - Tommy Shelby Imagine [Peaky Blinders]

Title: I Saw the End, it Looks Just Like the Middle

Pairing: Tommy Shelby X Reader

Based On: No Complaints

Word Count: 2,226 words

Warning(s): argument, mention of canon-typical violence, mention of separation

Summary: A face from Tommy's past comes home. When he tries to reconnect, he's quickly dismissed. If only his stubbornness would vanish long enough for him to accept it.

Author's Note: I completely changed who I was going to write this about because I wanted to write about Peaky Blinders.

NOAH KAHAN - STICK SEASON [WE'LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER] WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

-------------------

I always knew the dangers of returning to Birmingham.

It was a major reason why I never planned on doing such. Once I had gotten out, I had every intention of staying out. I was certain that I would never find myself back on those familiar paths.

My certainty never meant that I had lost my ability to see the signs that were all too familiar.

When I saw the kids suddenly running from the road, hiding away in buildings, I instinctively grabbed my partner's hand.

"Come on," I murmured, pulling him off to the side.

"What's going on?"

"I'll explain in a moment."

We crowded around the wall of a nearby house. I saw my partner looking at me. I leaned forward, dropping my voice to the lowest that I could.

"When people start clearing the street, follow them," I advised.

"Why?"

"The Peaky Blinders," I replied. "You move out of their way, no matter what. That's all you need to know. All you should want to know."

"You knew them, didn't you? You told me about them."

"Then you should know why my previous connection doesn't quite give me any kind of exemption."

He nodded.

I glanced out at the street. Walking down the middle of the street was Tommy Shelby. I took a sharp breath, trying to tilt my head down while keeping my eyes on him.

I hoped that he wouldn't notice me. And if he did, he wouldn't do anything.

Tommy's eyes caught mine as soon as he got close enough to see me.

If he was shocked, then he didn't let it show. If he was angry, then he didn't let it show. He acted like he saw me every day. As if that was simply where I was supposed to be. Where I had always been.

It made me uneasy.

However, I tried to ignore it. I showed my partner around as best I could without ending up face-to-face with anyone too significant with my past.

I hadn't truly wanted to come back. My partner had mentioned wanting to know me completely, including where I had grown up. It was a hard situation to confront. It was hard to see him walking through the streets where I had experienced some of the worst and best moments of my life.

I remember him telling me that he wouldn't push me back there. If it was too painful, then I had every right to tell him such. And he didn't. He respected my hesitance and fear and then respected when I said that I could handle going back.

I had found an old friend for us to stay with. They had promised to not tell anyone where we were staying. I trusted them.

My partner had fallen asleep relatively easily in the small bed in the small room. I hadn't been as fortunate. I'm not certain what was causing my thoughts to refuse to settle, but I knew that I felt as if I was going mad.

After hours of torment, I pushed myself out of bed very carefully.

I walked outside and stood in the cold air. I took a few deep breaths, closing my eyes for a moment.

"Still restless?"

I flinched at the sound of a voice. I turned to see Tommy standing there.

"You never slept easy."

"A change of scenery can be tough for one's mind," I replied simply.

"Barely a change, is it?" he tilted his head a bit. "Last time I checked, this place was home for you."

"That was a long time ago."

"Was it?" he raised an eyebrow at me. I didn't respond to that. "Who are you with?"

"My partner," I answered. Maybe that idea would deter him for the time being. "He wanted to see where I was from. What made me who I am."

"How sweet," Tommy's voice was void of all emotion when he spoke. "Just in time for the races."

"I thought it was a good enough excuse."

He nodded.

"Why are you here, Tommy?"

"Is it wrong to visit an old friend?"

"If I were a friend, no. We both know it is far more than that."

"I wanted to see you."

"How did you find me?"

"I have my ways."

"You had someone follow me."

"They said that you and your partner seemed very happy," he explained. No shame in actions. "'Innocent too."

I scoffed, not having any will to entertain this conversation any longer.

"I don't remember you being so... modest around me."

"I don't remember you being so similar to a stalker around me, yet here we are," I shrugged. He chuckled, shaking his head at me.

"Been too long since we've talked."

"Well, don't get your hopes up. I don't plan to make these visits a normal thing."

"Is that right?"

"Yes," I said bluntly.

He didn't respond to that.

"I'm going to ask you to leave me alone, Tommy. I'll be gone again before you know it."

I turned around and walked back inside before another word could be spoken.

I wanted to believe that this would work. I wanted to believe that Tommy was a respectful enough person to listen to me.

I should have never been so foolish.

The day of the races, I tried to keep my spirits high. I stood next to my partner and smiled. I watched him smile. For just a moment, we were merely two people. Two painfully normal people. I had been craving that feeling for so long.

If only it hadn't been accompanied by the constant reminder of who I was the last time that I had ended up at the races.

I wanted to ignore it. However, I was still glancing around too much. I was still looking for any sign that chaos was going to erupt. I was still stuck in my old ways.

And then, I spotted Tommy.

He was standing silently off to the side. He made no effort to hide that he was looking at me and not at the races. He didn't need to. No one cared about him.

I knew he was only there for some other purpose. Tommy rarely troubled himself with being in the crowd. Only when he had a plan in mind. Maybe that was why I felt the familiar sense of dread that something today was going to go horribly wrong.

We held eye contact for what felt like ages before he nodded and turned to walk away. I understood what he was asking of me. And I knew that acting like I didn't, would only cause more problems.

"I'll be back in a moment," I muttered into my partner's ear.

"Are you alright," he asked.

I nodded. "Yes. I just need a moment."

I walked away from our spots and down into the halls. I could faintly hear the music in a nearby room. I ignored it, instead weaving between people to get through the hall.

I found a small room. Empty. I looked a little further down the hall and found John leaning against a wall some ways away. They were responsible for this. Not just Tommy. He had dragged the rest of them into this.

I pushed the door open with a shake of my head.

Tommy was waiting inside, just putting out a smoke as I walked in.

I felt the tension suffocating me as soon as I faced him.

I tried to remain calm and speak as if my voice didn't feel blocked by my worry, "What do you want, Tommy?"

"Took you long enough-"

"Don't start," I muttered. "Just answer my question."

"I want to know where you went," he replied.

"I don't think that is any of your business."

"After all that's happened, I deserve to know-"

"You don't deserve anything from me." I stepped closer to him, getting right in his face in the hopes that the venom of my words would hit just that much harder. "You don't deserve a breath from my lungs or a word muttered under my breath. You don't deserve anything."

He didn't seem to react to me being so close to him. "Then why come to meet me?"

"To tell you to leave me alone," I said.

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you choose to believe, Tommy."

"I believe that you're bored," he continued as if I hadn't spoken at all.

I scoffed, "Tommy-"

He cut me off, "I think that you ran away and your life got boring."

"Would you rather I'd stayed," I asked. "If I remember correctly, you made quite a habit of telling me to go. My safety and such."

"I live a dangerous life."

"And yet you're upset that I found something better." I saw the smallest smirk pull at his lips as he shook his head. God, I hated that smirk of his.

"You enjoyed the danger," he muttered. "You know it, I know it. You stayed because it excited you."

"Stop it."

"You watched men die. You stayed with me through the threats and the fights. You were threatened and hurt, yet you refused to leave whenever I told you that you needed to."

"That was a long time ago-"

"Was it?"

I felt every word fall to the ground. Each one useless. Like dull knives or unloaded guns. Nothing good enough to do the harm that I wanted.

So instead, I scoffed at him.

I stepped back, getting ready to leave before he asked me any more questions.

Unlike that night on the street, Tommy didn't just let me walk away. Instead, he grabbed my wrist.

Before I could truly comprehend what was happening, he pulled me forward and pressed his lips to mine. My eyes scrunched shut almost on instinct. I stood frozen for a few moments before roughly shoving him back. I reached out and slapped him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Tommy," I asked.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that you don't care for me," he said.

"That's not the point-"

"Is it not?"

I shook my head and took another step away from him. "Do you know the person I was when I was here, Tommy? Genuinely?"

"I knew you as strong," he replied. "Brave. Protective. I believe Arthur admitted that you were scary once."

"You knew me as broken," I corrected. "You knew me as damaged. Rejected and desperate."

His jaw clenched.

"I don't think you understand how different I am now," I explained. "And how much better I am because of it. You knew the version of me that had been thrown out by every last person that claimed to care about me. The version that just needed to feel something other than pain. Terrified that one day, you'd wake up and tell me to go because you didn't want me, not for my safety. And that's not your fault... it's mine.

"I didn't even confront how bad I had gotten until a man broke in while I was in bed. You were fighting and I couldn't do anything. I remember that a bullet from his gun got buried in the wall. He tried to shoot me, but he had shit aim when he panicked. You tried to cover it. Hide it from me. It never worked. Every time I saw that room, my eyes always found that spot in the wall.

"After I left, I was so ashamed of that version of me. I hid them, lied about them, pushed away anyone that could possibly figure out an ounce of who I had been. And then... I met him. And he showed up at my doorstep the morning after I had sent him away. He did and does accept everything that I am. Even the parts that I didn't want to tell him.

"I'm not ashamed of who I was anymore. I'm not ashamed of how I felt for you. I am not ashamed of a single moment that I had with you. And yes, I am bored. Bored out of my mind. But I have no room or reason to complain about that. Because every time that I think of going back to what excited me... it is just pain and violence and chaos and... I can't do that again."

Something in his eyes shifted. No matter how much he wanted to hide it, I saw it. It felt like this was the first time that Tommy was seeing me. He wasn't seeing some flashback or merely revisiting some old memory. He was only seeing me.

And I saw what I could have sworn were tears form in his eyes.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward. I leaned over and gently kissed his cheek.

"Goodbye, Tommy," I murmured before stepping back.

I didn't hear him speak up until I got to the door of the small room, "Good luck."

I grinned to myself, not turning around. "You too."

And as I walked out, I felt my shoulders relax for the first time in ages.

I wasn't looking back at who I used to be with shame or neutrality. I was looking at that version of myself with more pride than I had ever felt before.

I was exactly who I wanted to be, and I would fully accept that... one day.

-------------------

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#x reader #imagine #fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby x reader

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all-pacas · 4 months ago

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Unpopular opinion:as a Chase fan,I don't like his fanon self much. He seems too... Soft,for the lack of a better word? People seem to erase his harsher edges and bad attitudes in favour of a fragile person who wouldn't survive a second under House.

lmao god his fanfic self is so funny. he’s so sweet and prone to self harm and uwu. like mind you, i also see plenty of stuff on tumblr that’s like “this SPOILED RICH KID who is SO DUMB and SO ENTITLED” and i’m like calm down about that also. i’ve been reading a lot of ffn stuff recently and it’s fascinating to see what was written during the show’s run. chase really does get polished to a shine.

i think it’s easy to make chase soft on the one hand: he cries more on the show than anyone else (love that for him), he’s also kind of quiet. weirdly, i think the cam/chase romance is also a factor: the show pretty consistently… does some interesting things with that ship, but, cameron is generally (if gently/sympathetically) shown to be in the wrong, and chase to be the patient and forgiving boyfriend, right? (and this is because the relationship is shown thru cameron’s pov and lens and in terms of her character development; she gets to Make Mistakes so that she grows; chase is largely just her accessory). and then when she leaves, we get to see him be upset about it, which of course only adds to the uwu pretty sadboy filter.

but yeah! chase is prickly! like post-divorce everyone is being really nice and he is super rude and sarcastic and dismissive. he makes sarcastic little comments constantly. he is prone to sulking and passive-aggression. he wants validation and is kind of needy and when he doesn’t get those things he starts rolling his eyes and making weird comments (”works for spaghetti!”). chase also, i think, thinks… pretty highly of himself? like i don’t think he’s arrogant exactly, he’s no foreman. but he clearly doesn’t struggle with self worth. he knows he’s a good surgeon, he knows he’s got money, he hilariously thinks it’s his personality and not his looks that make women like him. he knows he is very good looking. while that isn’t to say he can’t be insecure (he really can be, at least when cameron is concerned), he isn’t self loathing. he knows he’s good at talking to people and doing his job and being pretty.

he’s pretty good at putting on a charming front when he needs to, but it’s very much a front. one of my favorite little things is that in poison he’s chatting up the patient’s mom, lightly joking, being friendly. she gets him removed from the case and he’s outraged, quote: “She complained? About me?” He is literally so mad that someone wouldn’t like him. he is offended. not hurt. not upset. it makes him angry. he is charming, intentionally, he is doing a strategy (his words), people complain about him? it comes up in the mistake, too; stacy mentions he always gets great patient reviews and foreman complains it’s because chase is fake as hell. and other times! chase is so polite and friendly to house, he is completely dismissive of foreman. he barely manages a polite front to park and masters, he can’t wait to not talk to them. he’s (affectionately) fake as all fucking hell. i love the scene in s5 where foreman/13/kutner want him to do a surgery and chase is like lol you’re not house fuck off. like he’s so dismissive. chase gets accused of having no backbone all the time, but the fact is, he has no issue sticking up for himself or being dismissive. when he likes someone he will do anything and everything with no complaint (see: house, cameron), but he doesn’t really like most people. foreman sure as hell never gets a single favor from chase, lmao.

and then to flip-flop, that isn’t to say he can’t be genuine or soft. like, he definitely bonds with children almost whenever he sees one. he hugs house with no ulterior motives. it’s also not to say he can’t be an uwu sadboy, although whenever he is depressed he tends to cover it with as much avoidance/sarcasm/sleeping around and drinking as possible. but like! the kid has been through a lot in his life! just the fact that he moved around the world and left everything behind is actually pretty tough! he’s had to take care of himself since he was a kid, he had two abusive parents, if he was to have a sadboy breakdown it sure wouldn’t be because of house. he’s a fucking survivor. he ratted to vogler because he would rather house hated him than be unemployed, and had no regrets. he’s great and i love him and he deserves it every time he gets punched in the face or called useless

#malpractice posting

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doonarose · 1 year ago

Text

The first one that’s right.

(Good Omens Crowley/Aziraphale kissing and romance fic)

Rating: PG/T

Rationale: I’m still processing Season 2 (loved it, no complaints), but we know Aziraphale and Crowley will come out of Season 3 talking to each other properly, and acknowledging, out loud, that they love each other, and actually planning for a future together. And that’s a delicious setting to play in while I figure out how the hell they get there. So, that future, begs the following fic…

Summary: Aziraphale would like to try the thing they did with their mouths that night it all blew up and no, he does not mean, speaking.

Count: 2500ish

“Crowley, you remember when I went to heaven to do The Second Coming?”

Crowley really cannot believe Aziraphale just casually asked him that.

Aziraphale continues quickly, “Right before I left, when we spoke…” he pauses.

When we spoke! Crowley’s mouth has fallen open, his brow furrowed incredulously, a reaction that seems entirely restrained in the face of such audacity. He wills Aziraphale to drop it, eyes flashing a warning as he steps a little closer, crowding into Aziraphale’s space.

Aziraphale manages to clasp his hands together in the gap between them, fidgeting as his gaze shifts to focus on the floor off to the side. It’s a drizzly Wednesday afternoon in the bookshop, completely innocuous, except Aziraphale has chosen today to trap Crowley in a doorway, stand squarely, infuriatingly, in front of him, and ask him if he remembers that day and that conversation.

“Yes, right, when we spoke, that day,” he continues as though Crowley actually had said he remembered. “Well, I think I would like to try that again.”

“Speaking?” Crowley manages to squeeze an extra syllable into the word. It’s absurd but the alternative is that Aziraphale wants to try the second coming again and that’s just not possible. “You’d like to try speaking again. We speak all the time now, Angel, I hardly think we need to do it more.” That’s true, they are much better at speaking now, at talking to each other and listening. They’re getting better, but that doesn’t mean Crowley wants to talk about that.

“No!” Realization dawns on Aziraphale’s face, “Oh, no!” his eyes going wide and his cheeks flushing pink, “Oh, goodness, no, not that. Of course not, I wouldn’t – I’m sorry – ” He grabs Crowley at the top of his arms and squeezes. He takes a deep breath, something Crowley thinks Nina might have taught him. “I love you.” It recenters both of them, lightens the air in the room, and Crowley feels his heartbeat slow and settle, his fight or flight response thwarted with those three simple words of assurance. He rolls his eyes and shrugs Aziraphale’s hands off his arms, the dismissiveness more out of muscle memory than anything else, but the corner of his lips also twitches up. He knows Aziraphale knows he doesn’t always say it back and that’s okay.

Aziraphale’s hands, now hanging unoccupied at his sides, flex sporadically. “Actually, I meant the other thing… with your mouth.”

Oh. Oh. After too long a beat, Crowley manages to say it out loud, “Oh.”

“Only if you wanted to,” Aziraphale rushes. “Obviously only if you wanted to. And we could stop if you didn’t like it and never talk about it again. I just thought we should try it since we’re kind of, well we’re together now and that’s what you do – it’s what lots of people, humans, do, anyway – and the other time was terrible but that wasn’t our fault and –”

“Terrible?!” Crowley squawks, cutting him off.

“Well, no, not terrible, sorry, oh gosh I’m making a mess of this. Humans make relationships look so easy.” Aziraphale whines, covering his face with both hands and blushing pink beneath them.

Crowley has, of course, thought about kissing Aziraphale, sometimes entirely by accident, but, more often than not, very much, quite on purpose. Somehow, it has never occurred to him that it is something Aziraphale might have thought about, too, and after that one, indeed quite doomed attempt, it is taking him quite a long time to process the proposition. What hadn’t Aziraphale just come and kissed him?

Aziraphale continues to blather: “Can we please just pretend I never said anything. We’re doing so nicely now, we’re both much happier, and I shouldn’t have brought all that up again.”

That sinking, bottomless pit feeling in Crowley’s stomach appears. The threat of losing something he never quite had, a feeling he’s unfairly intimate with but learning how to process and to shrug off as not automatically inevitable. And it’s not the world, or Aziraphale, or his freedom that is about to be snatched away. Just a kiss. Angels, certainly demons, aren’t even meant to kiss – definitely not the way he wants to kiss Aziraphale. That’s the domain of humans and all their weird humanity, smushing their wet food/talk/breath holes together as though it’s some sort of fun. What is that even about? Surely one of God’s more bizarre pranks.

Oh, but he really, really wants to. The pang of potential loss makes his stomach twist and his fingertips itch to grab and hold fast and try to kiss all the doubt out of Aziraphale.

But that didn’t go so well last time.

He’s learning, though. “Hang on a minute,” he says, sounding less calm than he’d intended.

Aziraphale fidgets and shakes his head, pouting and tutting because Crowley’s already been standing there, processing, for too long.

“Was it really that terrible?” What Crowley wanted to say was something like ‘Yes please, let’s try it, don’t worry, it’s going to be great!’

“No!” Aziraphale sighs, and tries it more gently, “No, it just wasn’t… I mean everything around it was terrible, wasn’t it?” Crowley’s eyes narrow and an eyebrow arches. “Well, no, I mean, what you said was… lovely… illuminating… It was everything I wanted to hear even if I didn’t know it. But it wasn’t the right time and I didn’t expect you – well, you, I didn’t expect… It was a surprise, when you kissed me, and it wasn’t terrible but I think we can both agree it wasn’t exactly… good.” Aziraphale goes still, bracing for the impact of more argument or indignation or having to backtrack again.

Crowley says nothing, just watches him, for another too-long moment. “So, you want to try again?”

Aziraphale can’t help but break into a proper smile at the infinitesimal, possible progress: ever the optimist. “Yes! That’s all, and as I said, if it’s awful or you don’t like it, of course, we never have to do it again. I just thought it made sense to ask, to try... well to ask to try. But if you don’t want to, that’s completely fine, just say the word and – ”

“I want to.”

“Oh. Okay…Good.”

Crowley keeps count as the seconds pass. He makes it to twelve before he absolutely has to say something. “Ready when you are, Angel.” He swallows because that felt brave in the face of how fast he can feel his heart thumping, how stupidly vulnerable and nervous this is making him feel.

But then he sees Aziraphale’s gaze snap up to meet his, eyes going comically wide, and Crowley realizes Aziraphale’s been staring at his mouth those whole twelve seconds. It makes him even braver, the nerves and the vulnerability still there, but something playful and teasing, their natural rhythm, working its way into the moment.

Aziraphale starts to nod, building resolve even as his eyes slip back to down to Crowley’s lips which Crowley licks and purses before he can stop himself. Aziraphale swallows heavily and checks, “Here? And… and now?”

“I can meet you somewhere else later, if you’d prefer,” Crowley teases some more.

Huffing, Aziraphale flexes his shoulders back once and then grasps Crowley by the upper arms. He hesitates a second longer and then he’s pulling Crowley into him, angling his face to meet Crowley’s lips in a firm, warm press.

It is not dissimilar to the one other time they did this, albeit without all the drama, trauma and world-destroying stakes. Instead, it’s just them, wilfully, openly in love, mouth to mouth in a doorway in the bookshop. Trying kissing.

Aziraphale smells good, better than expected this close, more earthy, more like skin, and his lips are unbelievably soft. Crowley thinks he can taste the remnants of an Earl Grey tea with two sugars and perhaps a scone. He wonders what Aziraphale is thinking and then he realizes he should really, probably shut his eyes, and so he does. He tries to relax into the tight grip around his biceps, leaning into the unconventional embrace instead of just being held there.

This is so weird.

They’re not moving. Crowley’s pretty sure they’re meant to be moving, not just pressing. He realizes with a start that Aziraphale isn’t breathing at all and opens his eyes to check he’s okay and again, it’s just blurry tanned skin splashed with pink, dark splayed eyelashes that he could count if he wanted to because at least Aziraphale got the memo about closing his eyes. The view is strangely captivating even as the static and uncertain press of their mouths is beginning to border on too weird. And Crowley’s not breathing either and then suddenly he’s breathless.

They break apart on seemingly mutual terms and both take a step back rendering a larger than expected distance between them. Crowley makes a conscious effort to breathe and Aziraphale’s eyes flutter open beautifully.

Crowley won’t say out loud what he’s thinking, he’s not sure he could articulate it very well and it would certainly feature the words ‘weird’ and ‘unexpected’ and ‘woops’. None of which he thinks will be conducive to ever getting to try that again.

But it’s written across Aziraphale’s face, the mirrored consternation that that wasn’t what it was meant to be, it wasn’t like in the books, or the movies, or even a little bit what they imagined. Crowley starts concocting a plan with multiple steps, subterfuge, and, in all likelihood, weather.

Aziraphale licks his lips, takes two determined steps forward and lifts both hands to Crowley’s face, gently holding him there with his palms spread across his cheeks, fingers dipping easily into his hair. He takes only a moment to run both thumbs from the centre of Crowley’s lips out, tracing the crease, tugging ever so gently on his bottom lip, and then across the arch of each cheek. He shifts one hand, sliding it around the back of Crowley’s neck, his thumb pressed to the corner of Crowley’s jaw, and then he pulls him down, rising onto his toes just a little to meet him, to press their lips together again.

Crowley’s eyes fall shut instinctively this time and a small sigh of relief escapes against Aziraphale’s lips. They’re still just pressing together, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, but he’s alive and responding – giving and taking – with him and against him. Aziraphale’s fingers dance across his cheek bone, his other palm warm and secure against the back of Crowley’s neck; Aziraphale’s mouth pressing and pursing against Crowley’s mouth like he plans to try every possible angle and sample each square millimetre. Shifting from bottom lip to top, then back again before drawing the lightest friction of lips on lips as he shifts to kiss at the corner of Crowley’s mouth. Back again and again and again.

Crowley’s hands move to Aziraphale’s sides, grasping the material of his jacket but it isn’t enough of an anchor. They slide to the small of his back, again grabbing fistfuls of the soft material, drawing him in, closer, warmer, dearer, safer, snug.

And this is what proper kissing is like.

Arms slipping further, tighter still, Crowley encompasses him as much as he can, an arm snaking up Aziraphale’s back to rest one hand heavy and petting between his shoulder blades, while the other arm wraps around his waist, fingers finding purchase in the material once more. His lips meet Aziraphale’s in each soft, exploratory press even as his breath comes quicker and not quite enough. He ignores the need to breathe and plan and hope, and instead focuses on everywhere they’re touching and the contented thrum of everything feeling right that settles deep within his chest.

When Aziraphale pulls back it’s only the necessary millimetres to switch their angle and feel the press of Crowley’s nose into his opposite cheek, but even that withdrawal, already over before its reacted to, pulls a tiny, forlorn whimper from Crowley that he’s not able to swallow. And that makes Aziraphale giggle. Right up against Crowley’s lips, a hot puff of air and laughter that Aziraphale immediately tries to stop.

Except Crowley knows, immediately, that he will do anything and everything in his power to make Aziraphale do that again, even if it involves making very undemonic, needy, whiney noises. The thought makes him smile, lips stretching against Aziraphale’s, and the kiss ends far more easily than it began.

They don’t pull apart; their eyes don’t open. Aziraphale’s hands drop and slip easily into Crowley’s blazer and back around his waist. His head tucks up against Crowley’s chest and cheek, finding a perfect spot there, just the right height, to nestle. Crowley entertains his instincts and nuzzles into the white curls at Aziraphale’s temple. He presses a firm kiss there because he can’t help himself.

Crowley wonders how long they’ll be able to hold this perfect moment, to stand here, barely breathing, in such bliss. He wonders why on Earth pressing their mouths together – kissing – feels like that. He wonders when they’ll do it again, how often, how many times, for how long. Will it ever be this good again? What if it gets even better? What else might Aziraphale deign to try of kisses and romance and human love? He wonders what Aziraphale is wondering.

Aziraphale takes a long, loud breath against his clavicle and then blows it out, Crowley can feel him smiling. “We,” Aziraphale says, “Are definitely doing that again.”

Crowley’s contented, happy sigh borders on a shudder but he manages a simple, casual, “Of course, Angel,” into Aziraphale’s hair.

Aziraphale hums his happiness and starts pulling back from the embrace far too soon for Crowley’s liking. When he steps back, though, it’s a thing to behold: his lips and cheeks flushed pink, blue eyes shining and his always mussed hair somehow still conveying that, yes, indeed, he’d just been kissed.

“Fancy a spot of tea?” Aziraphale asks more out of habit than expectation, as he smooths down his waistcoat and straightens his bowtie.

Surprising even himself, Crowley responds, “Yes, I rather do.”

***

Now with a follow up companion piece (and likely to become a short series of their early kisses): The second one that's quite rubbish And also on AO3!

A/N: I wrote a thing?! It’s an extremely sappy thing by my standards (kind of) but certainly what they deserved. I’m waiting on my AO3 account since that seems the way to do things these days. I haven’t written fic in over eight years and I am still finding character and voice with these two so feedback or discussions very welcome! This is just the first part of at least eight, each delving into a subsequent kiss because, clearly, I am a total sappy sap. And then also a potential (unlikely) opus to try to bridge Season 2 to this blissful future.

A/N2: So I posted this pretty much exactly a month ago and since then I've written... over 30K words that follows on from this beginning and you can go and read all of it here as well as two 8k stand alones that just jump to the good (explicit) bit.

#good omens 2 spoilers #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #aziraphale x crowley #doonas fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots

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